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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513896">Roaming in the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbelieves/pseuds/casbelieves'>casbelieves</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst, Apocalypse, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Croatoan Virus (Supernatural), Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Fallen Angels, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, M/M, Marijuana, Minor Character Death, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Porn With Plot, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed, Smut, canonverse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:34:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28513896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/casbelieves/pseuds/casbelieves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A reimagined look into how "The End" came to be. Castiel does not return to heaven after he rescues Dean from his stint in an apocalyptical 2014. The brothers don't reunite. The angels do fall. A dangerous and deadly virus spreads worldwide. But, without fail, Castiel follows Dean and, perhaps, that is his only fault.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>95</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy New Year!</p><p>I am pumped to share this story with you all. Please feel free to comment/like/share as you read along! I will be posting weekly, usually on the weekends. Follow me on tumblr @casbelieves and message me if you want to be added to the tag list. I'm also collabing with some friends to create some content to accompany this story.</p><p>Spotify Playlist is <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/14g1P2TtTEkPiphBFedKjb?si=pz5NnXu9RTGX1WszFziUag">here.</a></p><p>Also, check out my previous story <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028339/chapters/4400313">"Still Breathing."</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>September 8<sup>th</sup>, 2009</strong>
</p>
<p>The first time Castiel follows Dean into a suicide mission, he’s in love with the reckless and battered man who he rescued from the pits of Hell. This is the first indication of the angel’s capability to feel as a human does. It reminds him of taking flight, but better. At the time, his grace is intact, and he is undeniably celestial. But falling in love with Dean Winchester is Castiel’s first true taste of humanity – of being more human than heavenly – and he chases the high like he’s a junkie rather than an angel of the Lord.</p>
<p>He hangs on every word Dean says, trailing behind him with his eyes wide and his heart open. There must be an invisible tether maintaining him in an unrelenting orbit around the eldest Winchester brother. Because even when he doesn’t need to be near Dean, he watches over him, wings spread out in a canopy above the human. Keeping tabs on Dean’s movements and health has become second nature to him. Castiel can’t imagine anything worse happening to the world than losing Dean Winchester. That’s the second clue of his growing endearment.</p>
<p>Dean could ask him to go anywhere or do anything and, without a second thought, Castiel would say, “Of course.” Because his presence in Dean’s life is a guarantee. He will always come when Dean calls. This is the third signal that he is in love.</p>
<p>Of all the heavenly rules he could break, he didn’t expect it to be this one. Falling in love with a human seemed like a long shot but, here he is, throwing caution to the wind and defying all orders from heaven to stay by Dean’s side.</p>
<p>After he rescues Dean from Zachariah’s little “Back to the Future” stunt (which is Dean’s nickname for his time travel into an apocalyptic future), Castiel doesn’t leave. There is something in Dean’s voice that gives Castiel pause when he places his hand on Castiel’s arm and says, “Don’t ever change.” A plea. It’s Dean’s way of telling Castiel to stay.</p>
<p>He ignores his commands from Heaven to be with Dean. And it is the only choice that makes him feel holy. No amount of ethereal energy or unbridled power can match the feeling Castiel gets when Dean looks at him. Nothing will ever compare.</p>
<p>Dean won’t tell him what he saw in the future except for a few key pieces of information. If Sam accepts his role as Lucifer’s vessel but Dean rejects Michael, then the angels will fall, and Lucifer will spread the Croatoan virus across the world. Billions of people will die. Castiel will become human. The words spill from Dean’s mouth in a flurry of hollow sound as he paces the floor of their crappy motel room with sickly yellow walls and blue linoleum. There is no way to stop it.</p>
<p>So, they decide that it would be best for them to meet up with Sam and they do, because there must be something they can do. But it doesn’t take long before the mood turns sour again. Sam drinks demon blood, and no one understands what compels him to do it. Dean doesn’t handle it well. Nobody can forgive or forget. Whenever the brothers are together, a thick cloud of shame, guilt, and distrust hangs over them and muddies the water until they’re all swimming in the thick muck of the Winchester’s shared trauma. There is no escape from it. Dean and Sam go their separate ways, despite Castiel’s urging that that’s exactly what Lucifer and Michael want, but his protests are useless. Neither of them ever listen to him. The Winchesters are unreasonably stubborn, a quality that Castiel was initially fond of, but now considers it to be their biggest human flaw. In the end, when Dean asks Castiel to go to Colorado with him, Castiel follows him blindly. By this point in time, Castiel has resigned himself to the fact that he would rather die fighting beside Dean Winchester than die fighting for a God who he believes is no longer listening. </p>
<p>When they’re alone, camped out in a McDonald’s parking lot so Dean can take a quick nap, Castiel asks, “Why don’t you want to be with your brother, Dean?”</p>
<p>Peeking through one eye, Dean grumbles, “You really wanna know the answer to that, Cas?”</p>
<p>Castiel nods, and Dean reluctantly digresses, “In the future, I saw Lucifer in Sam’s body. And he told me that, no matter what we do, we’ll always end up in <em>that</em> future. Whether Sam and I are together doesn’t do jack shit, and I don’t wanna stick around to watch my baby brother become the Devil’s bitch.”</p>
<p>“So, you think we are helpless to fate?”</p>
<p>“I’m only human, Cas.”</p>
<p>And with that, the conversation is over; Dean falls asleep within a matter of minutes and Castiel is left wondering what else Dean hasn’t told him about this inevitable future. Where does he fit into the equation, and why would Dean ask him to stay by his side?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>October 16<sup>th</sup>, 2009</strong>
</p>
<p>Emotions are new to Castiel, but he thinks that this is what love feels like. It’s like free-falling, wingless and hopeful that something, <em>anything</em>, will eventually catch him. This is why it’s better than flying; the experience is beyond his control and he can simply enjoy the thrill of it. He doesn’t know how else to describe the surge of energy that envelops every molecule of his being when he is in the presence of Dean.</p>
<p>Kicking a demon to the ground and thrusting his angel blade through its chest, Castiel finally has a chance to look for Dean. Across the warehouse, Dean slumps against a crate and clutches at his stomach, blood seeping through his shirt and fingers. It pools in a red stream on the grey concrete.</p>
<p>“You’re hurt.” He tugs his angel blade from the demon’s body and rushes to Dean’s side. Placing two fingers to Dean’s forehead, he relishes the sensation of his grace briefly transferring to Dean, smoothing over the deep gash on his abdomen. His red and swollen face returns to normal. The cut on his lower lip disappears. Castiel stares at the curve of it, the pink flesh wet with saliva as Dean darts his tongue out in search of the blood that is now long gone.</p>
<p>“You alright?” Dean grunts as he stands, dusting off his jeans and releasing a sigh. “Fuck, I thought I was done for.”</p>
<p>Although every cell in his body revolts, Castiel moves away from Dean, “Not with an angel watching over you.”</p>
<p>“You’re a damn good partner, Cas.” With a slap of his hand to Castiel’s back, Dean quirks his head towards the exit, “C’mon, let’s roll.”</p>
<p>For the rest of the night, Castiel can only think of Dean’s hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>October 29<sup>th</sup>, 2009</strong>
</p>
<p>Leaning against the shiny black hood of the Impala, Castiel unconsciously smooths out the sides of his trench coat and places his trust in the sturdy vehicle’s ability to hold him up. He swears his grace threatens escape when Dean exits the office of the Knotty Pine Motel. His eyes track Dean as he walks towards Castiel, weaving through the cars littered across the parking lot.</p>
<p>“Grab the bags,” Dean shouts when he’s close enough, unlocking the trunk after he rounds the back of the car. “They only had one room with a king bed, so we’re bunk buddies.”</p>
<p>Castiel stares at him blankly and states, “I don’t sleep, Dean.”</p>
<p>“Then why d’you always lay down in your own bed?”</p>
<p>“I like to think that it soothes you,” Castiel remarks genuinely, eyebrows knitting in confusion. He thought that they had discussed this. “You have told me before that it unsettles you when I watch you sleep.”</p>
<p>Slinging his duffel over his shoulder, Dean closes the trunk and glances at Cas, “So, what, you just stare at the ceiling all night?”</p>
<p>“Sometimes I watch the television without sound, so I won’t wake you.”</p>
<p>Dean huffs a laugh, “How considerate of you, Cas.”</p>
<p>“Anything for you, Dean.”</p>
<p>The comment passes into the thin autumn air, but Castiel harbors it in the back of his brain. He mulls it over, the sound and syllables, wondering if Dean knows the extent of its truth. Later that night, when Dean has showered, had a glass of whiskey, brushed his teeth, and slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms and a Henley, they both lay down on the king-sized bed, inches apart. The TV in the corner of the room plays at a low volume, painting the walls in a technicolor dream.</p>
<p>A few minutes pass in silence, until Dean asks, “You’re really gonna lay there all night with your shoes on, fully clothed, on top of the covers, Cas?”</p>
<p>Castiel’s trance is broken, and he’s already forgetting his count of Dean’s breaths by the time Dean has finished his question. It never crossed his mind to do any of the things that humans do to prepare for an evening, even if he isn’t sleeping. He supposes that, if Sam does accept Lucifer’s offer and the angels fall, he might need to learn about these nightly rituals.</p>
<p>“Grab a pair of my pajamas and, when you come back, get under the covers.”</p>
<p>Without a word, Castiel obeys. Having located the pajamas under Dean’s instruction, he sheds each layer of clothing. Taking off clothing is a painfully mundane experience. First, he removes his shoes and the trench coat, and then his suit jacket. In a neat pile on the dresser, Castiel stacks each item. He commits to memory the feeling of slipping each button from its hole on his starched shirt and how the knot of his blue tie loosens with a slight tug. When he is clad in the borrowed pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, Castiel silently retreats to his spot on the bed, pulling back the covers to slide underneath them. The blankets shift as Dean flips onto his side, facing Castiel.</p>
<p>Their bodies are nearly touching. Although Castiel does not perceive temperature the same way that humans do, he can feel the warmth of Dean’s body beside him. There is a pulse. A heart beating. They lay in silence for a while, lazily watching the TV screen with only mild interest. Castiel isn’t paying much attention to anything but the feeling of Dean slowly inching closer to him until their arms brush each other.</p>
<p>Castiel sneaks a glance in Dean’s direction to find him fast asleep. He has spent a number of hours watching Dean sleep. To protect him, of course, but he’s never been this close. Close enough to touch. So far, Castiel and Dean only touch in passing, brief instances that leave Castiel wondering what a lingering connection would be like. But this time it’s different. And, through the night, they do touch. At some point, Dean throws his arm around Castiel’s middle and tugs him close to fit into the curve of his body. They spend the rest of the night curled around one another, and Castiel prays that their proximity will never end, that they can remain like this forever.</p>
<p>Dean’s eyes flutter in his sleep and his mouth is slightly open; he snores sometimes, but not very loudly. It’s more of an occasional snort every few minutes. Daintily placed with care across the bridge of his nose, Dean’s freckles require Castiel’s undivided attention as he tries his best to make out each unique dot’s precise location in the moonlight.</p>
<p>Eventually, dawn creeps through the thin veil of the motel curtains and threatens the demise of their cuddling. When Dean wakes in the early morning hours, he doesn’t pull away, but snuggles further into Castiel’s chest without saying a word.</p>
<p>Dean wiggles until he’s eye level with their faces no more than two inches apart. When he releases a deep breath through his nose, the air ghosts across Castiel’s face. Cautiously, Castiel leans forward, bumping his nose against Dean’s. Too frightened to move any closer, Castiel waits, and he is rewarded for his patience when Dean kisses him gently. His lips are dry, but Dean licks at Castiel’s mouth and, suddenly, he begins to understand why lust is a sin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>December 3<sup>rd</sup>, 2009</strong>
</p>
<p>They don’t talk about the change in their relationship, but Dean stops asking for two separate beds when he checks them into sleazy motels. He rests his hand on Cas’ knee on long drives, his thumb rubbing in small circles. He kisses Castiel, pinning him to a damp brick wall, in a dark and dirty alleyway after they successfully escape death. One month after their first kiss, Castiel doesn’t ask Dean to define what they are doing, because he isn’t sure that either of them knows the answer. But they hunt, sometimes they kiss, and they hold each other a night; this new routine works perfectly well for them. No questions asked.</p>
<p>Rarely, if ever, do they interact with anyone beyond Bobby. But today, Dean receives a call from Sam. He’s hiding out in Arizona, attempting to live a normal life as a grocery bagger, but Lucifer continues to visit Sam in his dreams. He begs Dean to meet up again. Screaming at Dean through the phone, Sam says that he’s certain he’ll say yes if he has to be alone. In the end, he doesn’t get the response he is hoping for. When Dean hangs up the phone, he runs a tired hand over his face and grabs a beer from the minifridge, twisting off the top with anger.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand why we can’t go to him.”</p>
<p>Dean snaps back, “I’m sick of being responsible for saving the damn world.”</p>
<p>Castiel stands his ground, using his body to block Dean’s path to the couch. He quips, “You’re right – an apocalyptic future would be a much better choice. What happened to your insane plan to kill the devil and save your little brother?”</p>
<p>"I am gonna kill the damn devil, but I'm playin' the long game." Rolling his eyes and chugging his beer, Dean spits back, “By the way, there is no choice, Cas. We’ve never had a choice in any of this. I’m rolling with the fucking punches, and so are you. Get your head out of your ass.”</p>
<p>“Sam needs us –”</p>
<p>“Don’t you think I fucking know that, Cas? He’s <em>my</em> brother.” Dean shouts, commanding the room. “I’ve bent over backwards and killed myself one too many times to save Sammy, but no good ever comes out of it. I’m accepting that this is our new fucked up reality, and you should too, because you ain’t above it.”</p>
<p>Placing his empty beer down onto the kitchen table, Dean snags his keys and heads for the door. Castiel moves to stop him but hesitates, and quietly asks, “Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“I need some air,” Dean answer flatly as he slams the door behind him.</p>
<p>In the wake of his leaving, Castiel considers making a disappearance of his own, but he decides to stay. Later that night, Dean comes home from the bar smelling like beer, cheap perfume, and sex. And Castiel now understands what needing air really means. The smell is so revolting that it makes his head spin. They don’t have sex. Castiel has never considered it a possibility because he’s content with what they have. Maybe that was a mistake.</p>
<p>There is no reason to ask any questions; Castiel already knows where Dean’s been, who he was with, and how he got back to the motel. Being able to watch over those he cares about has officially become both a blessing and a curse.</p>
<p>But Dean is somber, the rage gone from his body, when he steps through the door and kicks off his boots, drunkenly shuffling to sit at the edge of the bed and dropping his head in his hands. Castiel remains where he is on the ugly green chair in front of the TV, staring absentmindedly at the skin care infomercial flashing across the screen.</p>
<p>“Cas, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>And even though Castiel is hurt, his stomach pitching to the floor in agony, he doesn’t care so long as Dean always comes back to him before the sun rises in the morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>January 10<sup>th</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p>
<p>Rain hails from the sky, cascading down onto the hood of the Impala in a steady wave of reflective black. A mirror image of the bleak sky above them. A week earlier, they had spent New Year’s Eve in the desert heat of Las Vegas, pretending to fit in with the rest of society by ordering drinks and playing poker. Dean won two hundred dollars. When the ball dropped at midnight, Dean pulled Castiel away from the glimmering and bustling casino and into an empty hallway, kissing him under the flicker of fluorescent lights instead. 2010 started off with the taste of Dean on Castiel’s tongue.</p>
<p>But now, it is damp and dark, the stench of mold filtering through the wooden barn, and the smell of cigar smoke and the sounds of slot machines are a distant memory. Tiny streams of rain trickle down through holes in the ceiling, and Castiel quietly wonders why the state of Washington must be so wet. They had tracked three djinns to this location, but the lead turned out to be a waste of time.</p>
<p>Angel radio kicks on at high volume and Castiel is inundated by the input of thousands of angels screaming in unison, clouding all his other senses. He crumples to his knees, covering his ears in vain, as the chorus of fear and horror renders him useless. Then, the signal comes in clear as day.</p>
<p>“Cas?” Dean’s hands are on him, grabbing at Cas’ shoulders like they’ve done so many times before. It must be a reflex for Dean now, to put his hands on Castiel’s body. It must feel like coming home. “Cas? You alright?”</p>
<p>In shock, he braces himself against a rotten wooden beam, slick with moss, but Dean’s hands are much more grounding. He leans into Dean’s touch, his own hands reaching to curl into fists at the front of Dean’s shirt. Why must he be the messenger of this bad news?</p>
<p>“Dean –” Shaking his head in an attempt to rattle the words into existence and out of his mouth, Castiel finally forces himself to lift his eyes up, “I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>Dean snaps back, fear clouding his face, “Dammit, just tell me what’s going on!”</p>
<p>Shamefully, Castiel whispers, “Sam said yes to Lucifer in Detroit.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos so far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>July 22<sup>nd</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p>
<p>Six months after Sam becomes Lucifer’s vessel, Lucifer’s army overtakes the kingdom of heaven, and the angels that remain in heaven, those who choose not to fall, are slaughtered. The sky does not light up with massive shooting stars; death is much quieter than becoming human. Angel radio is silent, and there is no warning, no notice, no pink slip. There is only the sense of an epic and total loss.</p>
<p>It is exceptionally hot for July in Oregon, and the last vivid, fully angelic memory that Castiel has is of Dean. He watches clear beads of sweat trail down Dean’s neck after killing two vampires, mixing with the blood splattered on his shirt collar.</p>
<p>And then, he is overwhelmed with pain, as if every cell in his body is bursting into tiny shards of matter. His grace, the light he could always find within himself, is suddenly ripped from his core and all that’s left is an agonizing memory of what it felt like to be infinite. There is a faint sensation of remnants left behind – celestial energies that will eventually disappear with time and human exertion – but, for the most part, he is remarkably human. The world becomes smaller, duller, and scarier in a matter of minutes. It is underwhelming in the way that he cannot pinpoint every molecule in his general vicinity but overwhelming in the sense that he is flooded with every possible human emotion and sensation all at once.</p>
<p>A hard surface is beneath him, gritty and rough, and a sharp pain spikes through his skull. His mouth tastes of metal. Firm, calloused hands struggle to lift him into a sitting position, tugging him to rest against the side of the Impala.</p>
<p>“Cas?” Dean’s voice crackles through the air like static on an old radio. There is less tone to it than before, as if the harmonies overlaid within his voice have been discarded carelessly and lost forever. “Cas, what’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“My grace,” He rasps out, squinting under the harsh sunlight. The heat is unbearable. “It’s gone.”</p>
<p>Darkness floods over him, heat penetrating through the pitch black as he leans into the sensation of giving up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>July 23<sup>rd</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p>
<p>He wakes the next day in their motel room, but his brain is foggy, and the lights are too bright. His entire body aches. So, this is what it feels like to be truly human. It’s painful. He’s overcome with nausea, but when he sits up to rush to the nearest trashcan, a sharp pain shoots through his skull and he vomits all over his bare chest. Once again, he is harshly reminded of his newfound humanity.</p>
<p>Weakly, sitting in his own filth, Castiel calls out, “Dean? Are you here?”</p>
<p>Thankfully, he recognizes the faint hum of the shower turning off in the bathroom and the sound of Dean’s wet feet padding across cheap linoleum.</p>
<p>“Cas?” Dean peeks his head through the bathroom door and his eyes go wide. Within seconds, he’s by Castiel’s side, cradling the back of his head and carefully wiping the vomit from Castiel’s chest with towel. “Fuck, let’s get you in the shower.”</p>
<p>His throat feels raw, but he responds, “I don’t know if I can stand.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got you, Cas.” Swinging one of Castiel’s arms over his shoulder, Dean wastes no time in lifting him to his feet and guiding him to the steam-filled bathroom. He helps Castiel take off his slacks and underwear. He eases Cas down into the tub before turning the water on and dropping the towel around his waist. Dean climbs in behind Castiel’s naked form, carefully placing his legs on either side of Castiel and slotting their bodies together.</p>
<p>Although the present moment is not sexual, Castiel can’t help but notice that this is the first time they’ve ever seen or touched each other naked. He finds that odd, continuing to ask himself why that is the case. He sums it up to restraint; something he had mastered after thousands of years. And fear. He had always thought that Dean was holding back, unsure of his limits with a celestial being, and Castiel never suggested otherwise because he wasn’t sure of the best way to go about testing the limits. But now he is incredibly aware of how attractive Dean is and how much he would like to have sex with him. Not now, obviously, because he feels like he’s on the verge of puking again, but in the future.</p>
<p>Dean is gentle under the hot shower spray, caressing Castiel’s body with a tenderness that is entirely unexpected but greatly appreciated. Of all the times Castiel has thought of Dean’s hands, he never imagined them to be so soft. The hot water and Dean’s touch soothe his aching muscles and tender head. Time passes far too quickly and, before Castiel has time to argue, the shower is turned off and he is lifted from the tub. Once he’s dressed in a fresh pair of sweatpants, Dean makes sure that Castiel brushes his teeth and eats a meal after his stomach has settled. His thoughtfulness never fails to surprise Castiel. He begins to feel much better by the time the sun sets.</p>
<p>Glancing up from his empty plate, Dean quietly asks, “So, you’re human?”</p>
<p>“Mostly, yes. There’s still some fragments left behind, but I suppose I am.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean whispers, chewing his lower lip. “This is all so fucked.”</p>
<p>“At least we can be fucked together.”</p>
<p>Dean laughs out right, the sound racking through his body in a gust of air. It is not the same sound that Castiel has grown so fond of over the years. The timbre of it is hollow. Castiel grapples with his new limitations. When the laughter dies away, they are struck by their inability to do much of anything useful to remedy the situation. And, perhaps, that is why Castiel decides to take the lead.</p>
<p>“Will you have sex with me?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Will you have se—”</p>
<p>Dean cuts him off, “No, Cas, I heard you just fine. It just… surprised me is all.” His eyes flick over Castiel’s body before coming back to his face. “Are you up for that? I mean, two hours ago you were unconscious, covered in your own puke.”</p>
<p>“I’m feeling much better.”</p>
<p>Dean surveys him, “Cas, not that I don’t want to, but is that really what you want right now?”</p>
<p>“I want it to be with you,” Rising from his seat, Castiel decides he must take this leap of faith, because he can’t imagine anything more comforting than Dean’s touch. He wants so badly to be soothed. So, he moves until he’s in front of Dean’s seated body and wedges himself between Dean’s knees, kissing him. “I’m technically human, and a virgin. I want my first time to be with you.”</p>
<p>“Cas…” Dean watches him like he’s covered from head to toe in signals, warning danger ahead. Or trespass at your own risk. Seconds pass before he tentatively rests his hands on Castiel’s sides and looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>And that is all Dean needs to hear apparently, because his mouth is on Castiel’s in an instant, sucking and licking and biting with urgency. His hands are like wildfire, surging over Castiel’s body and claiming it entirely. Standing, Dean pushes Castiel backwards until they topple onto the bed together, franticly tugging at clothing until they reach skin. And this, Castiel thinks, <em>this </em>is something he has not felt before; the need to be as close to Dean as humanly possible is nearly debilitating. An unexpected groan escapes Castiel when they finally press their naked bodies together for the second time that day. But this time it is entirely different. Hands on Castiel’s hips, pinning him to the creaking motel mattress, Dean swirls his tongue around Castiel’s and coaxes another moan from him. There is a word for this feeling.</p>
<p>
  <em>Desperate.</em>
</p>
<p>Castiel cants his hips up in search of friction, but Dean is quick to lift his body away, licking a stripe down the vein of Cas’ neck. His teeth graze the sharp curve of the former angel’s collarbone and Castiel is flustered at the realization that he is so incredibly hard that it’s making his head spin. He’s never had <em>this</em> reaction to Dean, and it’s definitely something he could get used to.</p>
<p>“Look at you,” Dean whispers, breath ghosting across the creamy expanse of Cas’ chest. “All laid out for me. I’ve thought about you like this a hundred times, but it didn’t cross my mind that you’d be this damn pretty.”</p>
<p>Castiel has always considered Dean to be beautiful. The first time was in that rickety old barn in Illinois when Dean came at him with a knife, stabbing him in the chest within seconds of meeting. Something about the way Dean’s eyes narrowed with conviction when he came running towards a powerful heavenly creature made Castiel’s wings stutter, grace fleeting. This is one of those moments, except he doesn’t have wings anymore, or grace. Above him, Dean’s tan arms shine under the orange glow of the bedside lamp, his toned stomach rising and falling with each ragged breath. His eyes are pinned to Castiel’s like a thumb tack on a case map. With conviction. “Dean, please,” With a groan, Castiel reaches for Dean’s shoulders to tug him closer. To touch him and explore all the new and exciting secrets he hides beneath his clothes.</p>
<p>Trailing his index finger over Castiel’s lower lip, Dean watches him closely and says, “Open.”</p>
<p>On cue, Castiel takes two of Dean’s fingers in his mouth, sucking on the rough edges and hard lines until Dean pulls his hand away and nudges Cas’ legs apart. He has a general idea of what’s about to happen, but he trusts Dean to know what he’s doing. Exposed and slightly nervous, Castiel tenses when Dean swipes on slick finger across the entrance to his asshole. It’s a strange sensation, but not unpleasant.  Dean must notice this, because he leans down to gingerly kiss the worry from Castiel’s brow before slowly shifting down the bed again. Castiel is about to protest, wishing Dean would kiss him more, but his thoughts come to a halt when Dean takes Castiel’s cock into his mouth, swallowing down to the base. His back arches involuntarily as his hips jerk of their own accord. Castiel is only partially aware of Dean sinking a spit slicked finger into him until Dean crooks his fingers to the right and –</p>
<p>Holy. This is sacred.</p>
<p>“You’re so tight, Cas,” Dean moans, licking the underside of Castiel’s cock. He adds a second finger, building momentum as he pumps his hand. A slight crook of his fingers sends Castiel gasping for air again. “I wanna make this perfect for you.”</p>
<p>And Dean does. Castiel, who has lived in heaven, a place of pure and astounding cosmic perfection, discovers that making love to Dean Winchester far surpasses any unearthly experience he’s had. Once Castiel is aching with want, fingernails digging into the blades of Dean’s shoulders, Dean gently slides his fingers out. He catches Castiel in a kiss as he slowly bottoms out, and Castiel is reminded of what it felt like to be whole.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>September 13<sup>th</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p>
<p>Being human is taxing. It’s filled with tiresome chores, like peeing and eating, and countless hours wasted sleeping. Sleeping is the most challenging of all his humanly tasks. The first few weeks, Castiel laid in bed beside Dean, counting the hunter’s breaths and eventually losing track now that his mind wanders so easily. But the lost hours became apparent to Dean as purple crescents formed under Castiel’s eyes and his mood shifted more erratically. Dean also said the constant yawning was a dead giveaway. So, Castiel tried drinking himself to sleep. But the following morning, his stomach and head told him this wasn’t the most efficient or pleasant solution.</p>
<p>Despite Dean’s encouragements to try drinking the night before, it still takes him by surprise when Dean comes back to the motel with a little plastic bag full of marijuana. Castiel is still nursing his hangover, sipping on his third cup of coffee and waiting for the Ibuprofen to kick in.</p>
<p>“That’s not legal,” Castiel argues, eyeing the bag curiously as Dean places it on a counter in the tiny kitchenette. “Where did you get that?”</p>
<p>“C’mon, Cas, live a little,” Flashing him a grin that is guaranteed to make Castiel melt, Dean pulls rolling papers and a lighter from his pocket and sits on a stool. “It doesn’t matter where I got it – just that I did get it. It’ll help you sleep, just give it a shot.”</p>
<p>“Will I be okay if I do it?”</p>
<p>“I dunno. You’ve seen me do it before, and I’m golden,” Dean shrugs, tossing a few nuggets of green into an empty pill bottle with two quarters and shaking it with excessive force. “It’ll be fine, Cas. I think you’re gonna like it more than you would expect.”</p>
<p>Something about the last comment and the way Dean looks at him tells Castiel that he is missing a piece of information; the punchline of the joke is absent somehow. Dean carefully constructs a joint. His fingers are nimble as he rolls a thick line of weed into a thin piece of rolling paper. When Dean hands him the lit joint, Castiel accepts and tentatively takes two small pulls from the smoldering stick, hacking into the crook of his arm upon exhale.</p>
<p>“My God,” Castiel chokes out, passing it back to Dean with shaky hands. The world slows down and, abruptly, he’s moving in slow motion. “I need to sit down.”</p>
<p>He collapses onto the musty tan loveseat in front of the TV, resting his head on its unusually high back, and allows himself to sink into the cushions. He is floating. Disconnected from the room, the car commercial filtering through the TV’s speaker, the smell of popcorn beside him, Castiel is free. His brain does not whir with thousands upon thousands of worries; it is as quiet as angel radio was. Is. As angel radio is.</p>
<p>That’s what’s changed. Instead of the incessant and annoying pestering of his fellow angels, Castiel now must worry about his own thoughts. He gets lost in them constantly. Apparently, emotions count as thoughts. They’re constant and oppressive, drawing him out of the present moment on a whim. He’s even doing it now. Now, he is thinking about thinking. Fuck, why does his chest feel so tight?</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s working,” Crossing his arms over his chest, Castiel grumbles and screws his eyes shut. “Why is my heart beating so quickly?”</p>
<p>“You might be a little anxious at first, but you’ll settle down.” Dean’s voice gets closer as he takes a seat beside Cas, and it reminds Castiel that this is not the voice he fell in love with. He can longer hear Dean’s soul, vibrant and powerful, in the acoustics of it. Castiel leans into Dean’s arms as they wrap around him, pulling him close until he rests his head on Dean’s chest. His heart settles instantly. Dean’s chest moves as he exhales, “Cas?”</p>
<p>“Yes, Dean?”</p>
<p>“This stuff – pot – this is okay if you use it every once in a while, to sleep and relax, but don’t ever try anything with pills or needles. Y’know, the hard stuff.” Castiel feels Dean shift under him as he kisses the top of Castiel’s head affectionately and continues, “Just, now that you’re human, be careful about that shit.”</p>
<p>“Well, so far, this experience has been questionable, so we’ll see if I ever get to the so-called ‘hard stuff.’”</p>
<p>Dean releases a laugh, “Yeah, I know, but I just wanna make sure you’re safe about it.”</p>
<p>“I will be,” Castiel turns his head to a painful angle to kiss Dean. He relaxes back into his previous position and focuses on the heat of Dean’s hands. Thirty minutes later, Castiel is asleep, encased in the security of Dean’s arms and a haze of bodily calm that he will be grateful for in the morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>September 25<sup>th</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p>
<p>“Hey, babe?” Castiel perks his head up at the sound of Dean’s voice as he enters the motel room, but he is stunned still. Dean looks at him suspiciously, dropping a bag of groceries onto the bed, and asks, “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”</p>
<p>“Because you called me –”</p>
<p>“Babe?” A cheeky grin spreads across Dean’s face as Castiel tries his best, and fails, to read him. His ‘people skills’ are still a little ‘rusty.’ Apparently, social communication abilities don’t magically appear when you are turned into a human. It takes years of practice. Dean carefully steps closer to Castiel. “I can call you that, right? I mean, it’s fine if not, but we’ve been going at this a year, Cas, and I just – fuck –“</p>
<p>Castiel cautiously chooses his words, “Are we together in the future?”</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t even blink, “I think so. I couldn’t get a read on future you or future me but, uh, yeah. I have a feeling that we were – or are – a thing at some point in time.”</p>
<p>“What makes you so certain?”</p>
<p>Dean smiles, “Well, aren’t you already mine?”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am blessing y'all with an early chapter, so feel free to leave a comment or kudos to thank me for my kindness. Thanks for reading!!! It means so much to me. The next chapter will come out sometime next Saturday or Sunday.</p><p>Follow me on tumblr, @casbelieves, for updates, graphics, and future collabs.</p><p>Cheers,</p><p>J</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter 3</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>November 16<sup>th</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p><p>He considers it to be a form of prayer, worshiping Dean. This is the rapture; a touch so joyous that it commands a soul to heaven, and ecstasy is no longer a sin. Because Dean’s flesh is his salvation, Castiel’s scripture, worn and familiar beneath his hands. When Castiel becomes overwhelmed by his mortality and contemplates giving in to it entirely, he prays until he curses Dean’s name in vain and begs for forgiveness.</p><p>And Dean uses Castiel in a similar fashion. The sex is emotional, clearly, but there is something in the snap of Dean’s hips as he fucks Castiel into a mattress or the backseat of the Impala that tells him this is relieving some anxiety within Dean too.</p><p>It’s been tense lately. They are dealing with a doomsday crisis in the not-so-distant future. The remaining fragments of Castiel’s grace unravel and break away with every hunt they go on. Dean must live with the horrible fact that Lucifer is currently wearing his brother. The Croatoan virus hasn’t appeared yet, but Dean says it will within the next year. Considering everything, they both need a release.</p><p>This is no different than any other day. They’ve spent the last two hours torturing and killing two demons in an attempt to rattle any sort of Lucifer-related information out of them. They had some success. Lucifer has plans to target small, mostly uninhabited towns in the Midwest to beta test a new strain of the Croatoan virus before mass release. It is only the beginning of the end.</p><p>As soon as they get out to the car, Dean pounces on Castiel, pinning him to the closed car door with a rough kiss. “I can’t believe you broke the goddamn devil’s trap,” Dean spits out, fumbling with Castiel’s belt and zipper. “You gotta be more fucking careful—”</p><p>He smudged the line by accident and dropped his angel blade as soon as the fight started, leaving them at a disadvantage. Although Castiel has fought with a blade since the dawn of time, when he enters a battle now, he remembers that his death is imminent. Unlike Dean, who jumps at any chance to put himself in danger, Castiel is more cautious. He waits a second too long when pulling a trigger. He looks over his shoulder once, twice, sometimes three times before he realizes the bad guy is right in front of him, not behind him. He misses on his first swing more than he lands it. Dean’s becoming frustrated with every mistake Castiel makes, and it’s not going unnoticed.</p><p>“I know,” Castiel shoves Dean back, kicking his loosened trousers and boxers down to his ankles. He flips over onto his hands and knees, spreading his legs and peering over his shoulder to catch sight of the devilish look on Dean’s face. “Why don’t you take out your frustration and fuck me already?”</p><p>Stunned by Cas’ words, cheeks ruddy from the cold or the fight, Dean doesn’t move but his face softens for the first time in days. Castiel places the expression somewhere in between reminiscent and regretful. Wiggling his hips to draw Dean’s attention back down to what’s important, Castiel quips with a snarky grin, “Or are you just going to sit there and look pretty?”</p><p>“Watch your fucking mouth, Cas,” Dean whispers fervently, pushing a wet finger into Cas’ hole without any warning, but the burn feels decadent and necessary. A proper reprimand, and Castiel relishes in the aftermath of disobedience, moaning as Dean works him open. And the softened glance Dean gave him is forgotten in heat of the Impala as the windows begin to fog.</p><p>Castiel doesn’t get the chance to beg but, if he was given the opportunity, he would have. Dean is quick to replace his fingers with his cock, splitting Castiel wide. It’s excruciating in a mind-boggling, breathtaking way. The sex is rushed and sloppy, glorious in every tightened muscle and panting breath. Dean pushes Castiel down until his face is plastered against the leather car interior as Dean rails into him from behind. He grips Castiel’s hips, threatening fracture or a clean break, but leaves bruises instead. Spilling into him, Dean reaches his peak with a moan, and Castiel follows him shortly after.</p><p>They dress quietly in the dark, and Dean doesn’t kiss him once they’re finally settled in their seats, ready to go back to the motel. He is still angry, but less so. Castiel can tell by the grip Dean has on the steering wheel, knuckles white with a lingering resentment. But it’s not bone-crushing, not anymore, and Castiel thinks that he can live with that.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>November 24<sup>th</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p><p>Bobby wheels himself into his living room, setting the brake on his wheelchair once he’s beside the couch. Castiel picks at the dirt under his fingernails. It might be blood. They killed a pack of werewolves yesterday and it was a bloodbath. He showered three times before he finally felt clean again, and then they drove for twenty hours to get to Bobby’s house. Dean said they deserved a break, a Thanksgiving meal, and a bed with better sheets for a few days. Castiel couldn’t argue with that.</p><p>Castiel shifts awkwardly on the couch, “Where’s Dean?”</p><p>“Ain’t in the kitchen, so he’s gotta be upstairs,” Bobby replies, scratching his chin and fixing his hat. “Probably waitin’ up for you, y’know. Something’s bothering him.”</p><p>“I think I am that something.”</p><p>Bobby gives him a look that Castiel is unable to place, and says, “I doubt that, Cas.” He looks to the clock on the wall. “It’s gettin’ pretty damn late. Go on and get some shut eye.”</p><p>“Thank you for letting us stay here, Bobby.” Castiel rises from the couch, “Goodnight.”</p><p>“Night, Cas,” Bobby gives him a genuine smile and reaches for the T.V. remote. “Don’t let him bully you. You could knock that boy flat on his ass if you wanted to.”</p><p>Castiel nods quietly and heads for the stairs, climbing each step methodically. He supposes that there is probably more than one free bed on the second floor of the house now that Bobby sleeps downstairs. Dean’s been unnervingly quiet the lately, so perhaps some distance would be a good idea. He glances down the hall and sees two doors, one open and the other closed. There is a soft yellow light peeking through the crack at the bottom of the closed door. Castiel slips into the adjacent and empty room, closing the door behind him and allowing his eyes time to adjust to the darkness.</p><p>It’s a small room with only a dresser, a bed, and a chair. The walls are devoid of artwork and the wallpaper has faded and begun to peel at the corners. A thin layer of dust covers the untouched surfaces. The room obviously sits empty for long periods of time with an occasional stay from an errant hunter or family friend. It serves the purpose of a guest room effectively.</p><p>Shedding his clothes until he’s down to his boxers, Castiel climbs into bed. He listens to the shuffle of Dean’s footsteps on the other side of the wall and wonders if he still has that joint Dean gave him tucked into the folds of his wallet. Snagging his jeans off the floor, Castiel rummages through the pockets and successfully locates the joint and a spare lighter.</p><p>Dean was right. The first time he smoked, he was anxious for a few minutes but that subsided, and he was asleep within a matter of minutes. It was the first time he slept through the night since falling from grace. Smoking before bed has become part of his nightly ritual. It makes him feel numb.</p><p>Quietly tiptoeing across the room, he cracks the window and lights up, watching the thick plume of smoke escape into the night air. He smokes until he forgets to listen for Dean’s footsteps. The click of the door opening makes him jump, but he doesn’t turn around; it could only be one person.</p><p>“What’re you doing?”</p><p>“Trying to figure out why you’re angry with me,” Castiel mutters defiantly, snuffing the bud out on the windowsill. “And getting high.”</p><p>“I’m not –”</p><p>“You are,” Castiel turns around to find Dean only a few feet away. “You don’t have to lie to me.”</p><p>“I’m not lying to you,” Dean whispers, his stern gaze melts under Castiel’s. For a moment, Castiel attempts to pinpoint the emotion on Dean’s face; he is an inept judge of feelings. But he does notice that Dean’s eyes are puffy and pink, and there is a quiver in his lip that cannot be ignored. Dean rasps out, confused, “Why d’you think I’m mad at you, Cas?”</p><p>“I am essentially worthless to you,” Castiel sighs, dejected and tired, as he sits on the windowsill. A chill creeps through the cracked window and runs up his bare spine. Perhaps, it’s the weed talking, but Castiel unleashes his thoughts into the room. “I was once able to snap my fingers and pull you out of death’s grasp or touch you and cure you of most ailments. I can recall the feeling of sharing my grace with you, of touching your soul in the most intimate of ways, and I <em>miss</em> it. This new life is not what I expected, and I feel – I don’t fucking know – I am scared, Dean, and I sincerely apologize for being human. For failing you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to apologize when I’m the reason you lost your grace.” Dean takes a few tentative steps towards Castiel but stops himself before he makes contact. One step, maybe two, and Castiel could be in his arms, but Dean’s body is tense, his hands fisted by his sides. There is no room for affection in his frame; he is entirely closed off. “I’m the one who fucked up, Cas. I should’ve said yes to Michael when I had the chance. I’ve been trying for months, but the angels ain’t listening anymore. If I’d just said yes like he told me to, Lucifer might not be wearing my brother to prom and you might still be a goddamn angel.”</p><p>Castiel reassures him, “Zachariah wanted you to say yes to Michael for his own selfish reasons, Dean.”</p><p>“Zach wanted me to say yes, but so did the Dean that I met in the future.” The admission is so guilt-ridden that it is immediately forgiven. Dean continues when Castiel remains silent. “He told me that he wished he said yes.”</p><p>“Do you think we could have won if you said yes?”</p><p>“No, because I don’t think we’ll ever win.” Dean confesses, and it makes Castiel’s stomach lurch. “I’m startin’ to wonder if this is the wrong universe or path or whatever the fuck my choice resulted in to finish the fight.”</p><p>“Well, I believe we will find a way to kill Lucifer without Michael,” Castiel tries his best to sound uplifting, but his faith is – and has been – wavering. Nobody cares; God is not listening to them nor is He concerned with their troubles. Castiel takes two steps forward and gently traces the edge of Dean’s bruised cheekbone, lightly admonishing him. “You worry too much. For now, Dean, we deserve to rest.”</p><p>Hesitantly, Dean asks, “Can I sleep with you?”</p><p>It is so odd to see a Winchester in a state of vulnerability.</p><p>“Of course, love.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>November 25<sup>th</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p><p>Gluttony is a sin that Castiel rarely partakes in, but tonight is an exception, considering the United States celebrates colonialization and genocide by overeating. He doesn’t question the customs of the country out loud, because he is so eager to find his place, to feel at ease in the world, to understand. He shovels rolls, green beans, mashed potatoes, turkey, pie and booze into his mouth until his stomach aches. And he doesn’t feel any better for it.</p><p>“Christ, I’m stuffed,” Dean mutters, delicately rolling a joint into existence and licking the seal in one swift movement. Extending the joint to him, Dean smirks, “You want the first hit?”</p><p>“You know I do,” Castiel readily accepts, casually reaching behind Dean to open the window. Placing the joint between his lips, he lights it with a steady hand. Once he knows that it’s truly burning, Castiel inhales deeply and holds his breath. He gracefully slides between Dean’s legs, gripping his jaw and tilting his head up. Dean opens his mouth instinctively, and Castiel savors the fleeting sensation of Dean’s lips brushing his as he releases the smoke into Dean’s mouth. Tongue trailing along Castiel’s bottom lip, out of habit and ritual, Dean accepts it adoringly.</p><p>To share a breath with Dean in the shadows, out of the light, is greedy. Even though Castiel is giving, not taking, he feels indulgent. And endlessly empty.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>December 31<sup>st</sup>, 2010</strong>
</p><p>“So, you’re saying that we need to start doomsday prepping?” Ellen re-emerges from Bobby’s kitchen, setting a twelve-pack and a handle of brandy on the dining room table with little care. The bottles clink unceremoniously as Jo, Bobby, and Dean reach for a drink. She gazes at Dean, enraged with disbelief, “We gotta start hoarding toilet paper, canned food, hand soap; you’re telling us that’s all we can do?”</p><p>“The intel we got last month was that Lucifer’s gonna start infecting small cities soon. It’ll take off on its own from there.” Dean discards his bottle cap on the table with a flick of his wrist and takes a swig of his beer. Castiel catches his eye for a second, but Dean quickly looks back to Ellen. He clears his throat, leaning against the wall, and shrugs, “I know it ain’t what you wanna hear, but I don’t have a plan other than to prepare. We need to stock up on supplies so when we can establish the official camp, we’ll have most of what we need. You and Jo have a lot of contacts ‘cause of the Roadhouse. We should reach out to other hunters and their families to see if they’re interested in joining the compound.”</p><p>Ellen scoffs, shaking her head, “Boy, you think I can just call up a hunter and tell ‘em the world is ending and ask ‘em if they wanna sign up for summer camp? That ain’t gonna fly.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Dean’s about to snap back, but Castiel butts in, “We can wait to contact others until the virus becomes more of a national concern. People will take it seriously when it reaches a pandemic level, and the media is covering it.”</p><p>Looking between Castiel and Dean, Jo chimes in, “And where do you plan on putting this camp?”</p><p>“I already talked to Bobby, and he agrees that, when shit starts getting bad, we’ll start camp here.” Dean cards a hand through his hair and sighs, “Eventually, we’ll create an official base. There’s a state park, Gull Point, that’s two hours from Sioux Falls. It has some basic cabins and a few other campsites. More importantly, it’s not in the city. It’ll be secluded and easier to guard.”</p><p>“Alright, we’ll do it.” It is Jo who answers for the Harvelle women and, by the look on Ellen’s face, it is the final decision. “But what’s your end game, Dean?”</p><p>Tossing back the meager remnants of his beer, Dean doesn’t hold back, “We’ll find the Colt and I’ll kill Lucifer. Or die trying.”</p><p>A valiant effort, Castiel thinks, and he chastises himself for falling in love with the martyr of the story. If it were up to him, Castiel would insist on being the one to kill the devil, but it’s not up to him. Instead, he sips his beer and grimaces, trying to swallow the hollow pit in his chest. He should have gotten a brandy, something stronger, something more filling.</p><p>“Well, happy fucking New Year,” Ellen curses, lifting her glass of brandy into the air with a fake smile plastered across her face. They all follow suit, raising their glasses and begging for mercy under their breath.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oof, this chapter felt like a ~filler~ chapter while I was writing it but, now that it's done, I realize that it's actually a very important chapter in the grand scheme of things. I hope you enjoy reading it, because I spent way to much time on it, writing and re-writing it until it was perfect. By the way, there is a Spotify Playlist for this story! Go to the first chapter and check out the notes section for the link. I'm always adding new music to it while I write. </p>
<p>Follow me on tumblr @casbelieves for updates and other content :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>January 24<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Castiel cautiously walks up the stairs of Bobby’s house, remembering to lift his left foot a little higher on the last step to avoid snagging it on the rug at the top of the landing. He shuffles down the hall and pauses for a moment outside the room. Nudging the door open with his hip and carrying in a breakfast tray, pancakes stacked high and steam rising from the coffee mug, Castiel walks casually into the room, like he's done this a million times. As if this is their routine, their home, their life. It isn’t, but he can’t keep himself from breaking out into a grin when Dean pops his head out from under their covers, sleepy eyes peering at him through the folds of the comforter.</p>
<p>“That for me?” The blanket falls away from his face as he wiggles up the bed. Dean turns his palms out, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hand like a child does, innocent and sweet, and sits up fully. “Cas, y’know I don’t—”</p>
<p>“Happy 32<sup>nd</sup> Birthday, Dean,” Castiel counters, placing the tray on Dean’s blanketed lap and dipping his head to kiss him tenderly. “You make the world a better place, and I love you for that.”</p>
<p>“I…” Dean trails off, blearily casting his eyes down from Castiel’s beaming face to the spread placed before him, and he falters. The tough, grumpy morning façade falls, and Dean is radiant in the chill morning light of their shared bedroom. Through the golden film of his eyelashes, Dean looks back up at Castiel and takes a sip from his coffee. He scoots over and pats the edge of bed, smiling, “Love you too, Cas.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>February 18<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Castiel barely keeps his footing or his sanity, shakily pushing forward into the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago and curses himself for splitting up with Dean. Sure, they can cover more ground this way, but he’s not good at this – at fighting alone – and it feels like a trap. Another hunter told them yesterday about some demons running a soul-collecting ring in the area. The Colt and Lucifer were mentioned in passing. To Castiel’s dismay, it was enough to pique Dean’s interest.</p>
<p>He does a quick sweep of the first room he enters, and, to his relief, he finds nothing but an old sleeping bag and a half-empty carton of cigarettes. He pockets the cigarettes. Adjusting his grip on his angel blade, Castiel steals himself and tiptoes into the next room, sneaking up on a lone demon and swiftly gutting him in a matter of seconds. Poor bastard didn’t even have time to scream.</p>
<p>Castiel feels the confidence building now, a faint reminder of his strength and his ability to follow through when the time comes. He was a soldier once before, and he is still, in a way; now he just serves a different purpose. He serves a man, not God.</p>
<p>“Cas!”</p>
<p>Dean’s panicked voice echoes through the halls, sending Castiel flying through the corridors to find the source. He hears the clatter of a gun on concrete, a shot fired, a shout of anguish, and then all his muscles are put into motion. Feet smacking against pavement, Castiel surges into a large room and spots two figures: one on the floor and the other standing, gun aimed. For a brief second, he is convinced that the body on the floor – a body that Castiel has meticulously and lovingly discovered, catalogued, and worshipped – is unmoving. Relief washes over him when it lets out an aching groan. Knowing that Dean is alive, Castiel doesn’t waste another second as he charges at the offending demon, gun still in her hand. Thankfully, he’s pretty damn fast when he’s pissed. She’s dead in seconds, gutted like an animal.</p>
<p>“Dean,” Castiel exclaims in a shaky breath at the sight of his Winchester bleeding profusely onto the grey floor. He swiftly removes his angel blade from the lifeless body of the demon and scurries over to Dean. “Holy shit, what happened?”</p>
<p>“There’s still one more demon – dumb bitch ran when I started to exercise ‘em – you gotta get her so we can take ‘er back to Bobby’s. Probably got trapped at the exit.” Between clenched teeth, Dean clutches his leg and mutters, “Gimme your fucking belt so I can make a tourniquet. You can dig out the bullet back at the motel.”</p>
<p>Castiel unloops his belt and hands it to Dean, running a hand through his hair and taking off in the general direction that Dean said the demon went. He does find her, trapped at the exit by the devil’s trap that Dean hastily painted under a grimy old mat.</p>
<p>The demon stiffens when he stalks into the room, closing in on her. She sneers with a flash of impeccably white teeth, “Might as well kill me now, because I’m not telling you shit, angel.”</p>
<p>“You’re wrong,” Castiel smirks, striking her in the back of the head with the butt of his angel blade, and she falls to the floor in an unconscious heap. “I’m not an angel anymore.”</p>
<p>He hurries back to Dean and finds him where he left him, on the floor, bleeding. Dean tightens the belt looped around his left thigh above the gunshot wound. Castiel maneuvers himself so that he can sling Dean’s arm over his shoulder before he hoists him to his feet, whispering, “Deep breaths. This is going to hurt.”</p>
<p>By the sight of Dean’s silently pained grimace once he’s on his feet again, Castiel knows he’s right. Their journey to the car is slow and laborious, but they make it and Dean slides into the passenger seat of the Impala with a disgruntled moan of pain and exhaustion. Castiel tenderly wipes at the dried blood on Dean’s chin, lip split from a nasty uppercut, and rushes back to snag the demon still inside.</p>
<p>**********</p>
<p>Screaming around leather, Dean bites down on the belt in his mouth as Castiel carefully attempts to extract the bullet lodged in Dean’s leg. He makes sure the tourniquet wrapped around Dean’s thigh is tight as he digs deeper into the wound, pulling a bullet from Dean’s calf with his tweezers and tossing it into the sink to his left. Readjusting his position on the tile floor, Castiel moves until he’s holding Dean’s leg in his lap. He quickly douses the bleeding extremity in liquor and covers it with a fresh bandage, pressing hard to stop the bleeding.</p>
<p>“Fuck! That hurts like a bitch, Cas,” Dean winces, tossing the belt to the side and grabbing for the bottle of whiskey on the bathroom floor; he takes a long pull of the brown liquid. Castiel can’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Slumped in his seat on the toilet, Dean throws his head back in a groan, “Shit, you still gotta sew me up.”</p>
<p>“Sorry, just, be still for a second,” Castiel continues to apply pressure to Dean’s leg and gives him a weak smile, eyes roaming over Dean’s bloody clothes, his grip tight on the neck of the Jack Daniels bottle, hair matted to his forehead. “You want anything for the pain?”</p>
<p>Dean gives him a sharp nod, replacing Castiel’s hands with his own, holding the bandage in place against his leg while Castiel goes in search of painkillers. Someone, probably Dean, got their hands on a prescription pad a few months ago and had taken the time to write out orders for a few necessities – opioids and benzos, mostly, but antibiotics too – which they now keep for emergencies.</p>
<p>On his way to the bag, Castiel passes the demon they captured, mouth taped shut and tied to a chair, in the kitchenette. He ignores the muffled and annoyed grunts of frustration coming from her direction and squats to search through Dean’s bag, locating a dozen different colored pill bottles with various labels on them. Focusing hard on his memory of human medicine, Castiel holds up a bottle of Percocet and eyes it curiously. This is what Dean gave him when he broke two ribs last month. At the time, it made Castiel soar, and he had laid up in bed for hours overcome with bliss. Chewing his bottom lip, Castiel lets out a deep sigh. He could use a little pick me up right about now.</p>
<p>The orange bottle opens with a satisfying pop, the little white tablets taunt him in the dull light of the motel room, and he tosses two into his mouth, swallowing them dryly. He pockets two more into his jeans. The action feels forbidden – a dirty secret between him, the bottle, and his palm – but he doesn’t regret it, knowing that he’s going to be stoned out of his mind in about an hour. Will Dean notice? No, probably not if he takes his own dose. He catches the eye of the demon in the corner and shoots her a threatening look. Dropping one more pill into his flattened hand, Castiel returns to Dean in the bathroom, pushing down the anxiety settling in his stomach.</p>
<p>“This should help,” Castiel soothes him, placing the tablet on Dean’s tongue when he obediently parts his pink and swollen lips in anticipation. He brushes the sweat-drenched hair from Dean’s forehead and kisses him on the temple. “Alright, let’s stitch you up.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>February 19<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>“Y’know, we got all the time the world has to offer,” Dean drawls out, trailing the tip of the angel blade along the demon’s bare arm with feather-light contact. “I’ve got at least a solid three or four more years to drag this out and, trust me, I’d know; I’ve seen the fucking future, bitch.”</p>
<p>Hobbling around with his injured leg, Dean attempts an intimidating stance in front of their captive and twirls the angel blade in his hand in neat, clean circles. Castiel must admit that he would be a little frightened if he were on the opposite end of an angel blade in Dean Winchester’s hands. The demon laughs maniacally and spits red onto the floor of Bobby’s basement.</p>
<p>“It’s been, what, two hours? If you’re tired already, take a rest, champ.” She chides with an evil grin, peering past Dean to lock eyes with Castiel, “Why don’t you let your pill-popping angel get a piece of this? Or is he too high to do it?”</p>
<p>Panic immediately surges through Castiel’s body – a sensation he has grown accustomed to since falling from grace – and he tries his best to maintain his calm composure. He isn’t high right now. Although, he was just thinking about how much he is looking forward to smoking a blunt after this.</p>
<p>“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Dean rolls his eyes and jams the angel blade into the center of the demon’s hand, piercing flesh and bone alike. He turns to leave without another word or a single glance in Castiel’s direction.</p>
<p>“Dean –”</p>
<p>Her screams ricochet in the small space as Castiel pauses at the bottom of the stairs, eyes following Dean as his figure slowly disappears onto the first floor. He shoots a glare at the demon, who is still whimpering in pain, before he prepares himself for what awaits him upstairs.</p>
<p>“Wait,” Castiel pleads, trailing behind the limping man. “Dean, let’s talk about this!”</p>
<p>Dean doesn’t say a word but continues walking until he’s led them to their shared room on the second floor of the house. But with every silent step Dean takes, Castiel knows he’s been caught. Dean shuts the door behind them and rushes at him surprisingly fast, considering his injury, and grips Castiel’s wrists in his firm hands. Dean pushes him against the door, voice thick with anger, and asks, “You poppin’ pills now, Cas?”</p>
<p>“No, of course not,” Castiel insists with the sincerest tone he can muster. Dean’s grip loosens. Castiel mentally slaps himself upside the head for the outright lie that forms in his head as natural as any piece of truth would. “I had a migraine and, when you asked for some painkillers after you got shot, I took one to help with the headache.”</p>
<p>It’s a bold-faced lie to the man he loves, but Castiel convinces himself that he’s simply mastering the skill of self-preservation. He is human, after all.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Dean blushes, relief washing over his body and he nods in understanding. There is no lingering uncertainty on Dean’s part. “Yeah, uh, that’s good. Sorry – I just – wanna make sure you’re safe about that kind of stuff. Y’know, like we talked about.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I remember, no hard drugs.”</p>
<p>A classic Winchester grin grows on Dean’s face and it makes Castiel’s heart flutter, easing the ache of anxiety that began to grow the second the demon threw him under the bus. It is kind and loyal and genuine. Bringing Castiel into a hug, Dean folds him into his arms and presses his face into Castiel’s neck. In a whisper, Dean tells him, “Just don’t be stupid, alright? Can’t lose you too. Just can’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>March 9<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>In the recesses of his front pocket, Castiel fingers a thin slip of blue paper. This is the first time he’s committed medical fraud, but there is a bounce in his step that keeps him from thinking twice about it. He steps up to the pharmacy counter within the Super Walmart and hands over the paper along with a fake health insurance card, giving the woman behind the counter a carefree smile. She takes the bait.</p>
<p>“Hello,” Castiel keeps his tone even. “When will it be ready for pick up?”</p>
<p>He learned that trick from Dean. Act natural; pretend that this is completely normal. If you play it cool, everyone else will follow.</p>
<p>“Percocet? Have you taken this before?” She inquires, and Castiel gives her a cheery nod. The woman – her name tag reads ‘Renee’ – types away at her computer and nods, “Give it thirty to forty-five minutes. Would you like to pay now? Your co-pay in $10.”</p>
<p>“Yes, I’ll pay now.”</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, Castiel tracks Dean down in the cleaning supplies section of the incredibly large store. With a huff of feigned exhaustion, Castiel tosses the batteries and flashlights he was sent out to find into the overflowing shopping cart.</p>
<p>Dean pulls two large bottles of bleach off the shelf and mutters, “Next time, we gotta get two fucking carts. Go grab another cart, babe, and get the medicine we need from the pharmacy section, y’know, like the cold and flu shit. Ibuprofen. Gas-X. Stock up on a bunch of it, because this might be out last run before the outbreak.”</p>
<p>Castiel snorts a laugh, “Right, can’t forget the Gas-X when all you eat is cheeseburgers and pie.”</p>
<p>“Oh, bite me,” Dean snaps back, but there’s no real anger in his voice. Instead, he winks at Castiel and smiles, tongue peeking out between his teeth.</p>
<p>Humming at the thought, Castiel raises his eyebrows in warning, “Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”</p>
<p>Dean lets out a low chuckle and lowers his eyes when a family walks by them, and Castiel takes that as his cue to do as he’s told. Before he leaves, he takes a picture of their shopping list on his phone and agrees to grab the bottom half of items on the list. He tells Dean he’ll be back in twenty minutes with everything they need. And he does return to Dean, like a stranded ship locating the only beacon within a hundred miles, but he has more than what was on the list. He has his own little orange bottle of pills conspicuously tucked into the hidden pocket of his denim jacket. It rattles, a bad omen, but Castiel ignores that and focuses on the little voice in the back of his head telling him that he needs something to take away that dull ache in the center of his chest. Anything to ease that hollow feeling because, as much as he tries to be, he is not whole, and he is clearly fragmented, broken, and falling to fucking pieces.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>May 1<sup>st</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>“Cas!” Dean shouts from the other room. “C’mere, now!”</p>
<p>“Fuck,” He grumbles quietly under his breath, hot shower spray hitting the top of his head, and he sags at the thought of having to get out so soon. Annoyed that his shower is being cut short, Castiel roars back, “Gimme a sec!”</p>
<p>“No, get the fuck out here now!”</p>
<p>With a roll of his eyes, Castiel heaves a sigh and rinses the last of the soap from his hair, shutting off the water as he steps out of the tiled stall. He dries himself off with a towel and wraps it around his waist. When he exits the motel bathroom, he finds Dean perched on the end of the bed, captivated by the T.V. screen with a beer dangling in his right hand.</p>
<p>“What in the world –”</p>
<p>“Sh!” Dean hushes him with a sharp glare, pointing to the T.V. and turning up the volume so that a new voice floods the small room.</p>
<p>“It has been forty-five minutes since a series of attacks in several major U.S. and global cities have occurred. An estimated 100 people are dead in the U.S., and even more are infected with a strange new disease. It appears that an unrecognizable form of rapidly transmittable rabies is leading men, women, and even children to attack strangers in broad daylight.” The news anchor speaks calmly with an air of reserve that Castiel simultaneously loathes and admires. The news anchor continues, “Outbreaks of the unknown infection have taken place in New York, Los Angeles, Washington, D.C., Chicago, and Dallas. Smaller towns across the nation have also reported outbreaks. The President has declared a national emergency. Stay-at-home orders have been put in place and officials – ”</p>
<p>Dean shuts off the T.V. with an unexpected click and stands in the center of the room. He holds Castiel gaze, eyes wide with fear, and says, “We gotta get back to Bobby’s.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello lovelies!</p>
<p>I am sorry for the late post! This last week has been a little hectic for me. I may be posting less frequently. I'm thinking of posting every ten days instead of every seven days, because I am starting a new job this week. So, expect Chapter 6 to be up on 2/11/2021. I think that giving myself the extra days will work out well for us all in the long run.</p>
<p>Thank you so much for reading! Fair warning, I cried writing this chapter. </p>
<p>Please leave kudos/comments! I respond to every comment I get. </p>
<p>Best,</p>
<p>J</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>May 3<sup>rd</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>“Alright, so I’ll take care of tellin’ all the hunters how to kill the damn things and let ‘em know that, if they want, they’re welcome to join our camp.” Bobby writes down a few notes on a yellow legal pad. He scowls at the piss colored paper and growls, “Doubt any of the stubborn sons of bitches I know will wanna shack up at this dump.”</p>
<p>“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Dean mumbles absent-mindedly, running his eyes down a list of names and twirling a pen between his deft fingers. After adding a few more scribbled names to the bottom of the paper, Dean leans back in his chair and observes a blue jay perked on a tree outside. It flutters away in a flash of cobalt; Castiel aches for flight but pushes the memory of it down. Dean glares at the paper in his hands one last time. All the hunters they collectively know are on that sheet of paper.</p>
<p>Dean sighs, “Start with these guys. A few of ‘em have already called us – Rufus, Ash, Chuck – some ain’t hunters but they’ll be helpful to have around.”</p>
<p>Castiel watches Dean cross Bobby’s dining room in three long strides, handing the paper to Jo and patting her shoulder gently. He stalks back over to his spot at the head of the table and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Although Castiel would never tell Dean this, he looks the part of a leader.</p>
<p>Ellen sets a tray of sandwiches on the old oak table. Turning his wrist over, Castiel checks his watch. He must watch the news at noon to take notes on the state of the world and determine how screwed they are.</p>
<p>Nobody says a word when he leaves the room quietly, turkey sandwich in hand, and sneaks out the back door. They’re too busy making plans to establish a real camp in a few months, something that will last them for years to come, even when the rest of the world crumbles. He isn’t worried that anyone will even notice he’s stepped outside. He has exactly ten minutes to smoke a bowl before the news program starts, and he’s not going to waste a second of this precious, mindless time.</p>
<p>When he’s good and numbed, sinking into the couch, Castiel turns on the T.V. to find that there is nothing but static on every single channel. No internet. No signal. No connection. Even the radio is dead silent. There is only the crackling of white noise and the sense of being disjointed. It’s beginning to feel like the end, and, if he wasn’t high as all hell right now, Castiel would be shitting bricks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>May 7<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>With a strangled gasp, Castiel wakes just before the sun rises, skin sticking to the sheets. Hands reaching for his throat, to remove the invisible noose, the pressure that is not there, from his neck, Castiel thinks he is drowning, but he grasps at air and clammy gooseflesh instead. Covering his face in his shaking hands, Castiel soundlessly moves until he’s upright, legs hanging over the bed.</p>
<p>The entire world is in a state of collapse. There is nothing to be done about it. It’s too late for preventative measures; they are living out the remaining years this planet has to offer, and they are all partially responsible for its shortened lifespan. Castiel is officially coming to terms with their fate – the one Dean has warned him about over and over again – but, this time, it feels real.</p>
<p>Behind him, Dean crowds into the newly opened real estate on the bed, curling around the warm spot where Castiel once was. In the creeping dawn light, Dean looks peaceful, boyish even, with his freckles and unkempt dirty blonde hair, but Castiel knows that this man goes beyond his looks. He was created with perfection, war, and miracles in mind. Castiel allows himself to linger for just a moment longer, taking in the sight of the man he once reassembled, calling it holy work, because it was, and still is, a sacred act. God commanded that this man walk the Earth, and Castiel was the lucky soldier to see that the order be carried out properly.</p>
<p>A cool haze of morning light whispers through the fog outside his window. The wisps of illuminated air remind him of his grace. Like a message from God, the sight is so pure, too real and untouched, he inhales deeply and pretends that he is restored. It’s a nice sentiment, but useless and entirely fantasized. It appears that he is finally getting the hang of using his imagination.</p>
<p>The fog is a merely a momentary distraction. Seconds later, his brain is running wild with all the things he needs to do today. He needs to make phone calls, set up cots in the basement and extra rooms, catalogue their ammunition and guns, organize the supplies in the basement and create a rations schedule. Being the right-hand man of the one person who can possibly stop Satan from destroying the world is hard work with little to no credit.</p>
<p>Although it may not feel like it sometimes, Castiel knows that he is more than that to Dean. More than a great strategist, more than a best friend, more than a soldier, more than a body to sleep next to, more than his savior, more than a good fuck, more than, more than, more than. He is Dean’s – and vice-versa. It is unspoken rule, yet the most accurate sentiment Castiel has ever encountered.</p>
<p>Without waking Dean, Castiel climbs out of bed. He goes to the bathroom and cuts himself half of a little white pill, washing it down with a swig from a flask that’s a low on gin, and it is reward enough. It burns going down. Carefully, Castiel stows the flask and bottle in the back of the linens cupboard before brushing his teeth to rid himself of the regret that twists a knot in his stomach. The pill makes it worse but, by the time it’s noon, he’s itching for a second one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>May 21<sup>st</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>He’s feeling light, like a feather or a star or a fairy, and only partially lucid. That’s the way he likes to be – neither here nor there, but close enough to this place of existence that no one seems to notice his distance – and it works. It works for him, when the days drag on in a way that didn’t when he was an angel, and nobody seems to mind because they just think he’s smoked some pot.</p>
<p>Part of him knows that the pills are becoming a bit of a problem, but it just feels so <em>ethereal</em>. He couldn’t stop even if he tried. There is also a part of him that will always want to push himself further out past the edge of this reality. Who would have thought that ex-angels are at-risk for drug addiction?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>June 1<sup>st</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Castiel kisses the side of Dean’s head, running his hands down the other man’s bare back and pulling him closer, under the covers. They touch like this on rainy days when they know they won’t be expected downstairs before 10 A.M. and they can enjoy the crash of rain on the old roof, streaming down the window in a cascade of glass and water. A good storm will drown out any noise.</p>
<p>No one will ever touch him like this; Castiel is certain of it. It will only ever be Dean – the man who can make Castiel come undone so delicately, without a sound, but thunderous in so many other ways – and he loves him for it.</p>
<p>“You’re everything,” Dean hums with satisfaction when he lazily sinks into Castiel, gripping tight at his hips. He drops his head and catches Castiel’s lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, whispering, “I love you. I love you. Love you –"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>June 7<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Feet full of lead and anguish and fatigue, Castiel stumbles up the stairs and pauses for a breath outside their bedroom. It’s been twenty-two hours since they left to raid the grocery stores in a thirty-mile radius of Bobby’s house. They lost two of their own and were only able to bring one body back.</p>
<p>Castiel could go for a cigarette. Maybe a spliff. Something that will burn. Fuck, maybe not. He can’t see a flame without thinking of sitting through another hunter’s funeral.</p>
<p>He hasn’t seen Dean yet, and he’s been home from the supplies run for an hour. He rests his forehead on the cool wood of the door frame before twisting the knob and stepping into the room. Dean is nowhere in sight but, on the bed, is an orange pill bottle and his flask. The ones he keeps in the upstairs bathroom.</p>
<p>
  <em>Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck –</em>
</p>
<p>Panic flares through Castiel until he’s trembling and leaning against the doorway to stabilize himself. He takes a few ginger steps into the room and stands at the center of it, head spinning and wondering how the hell Dean found his stash.</p>
<p>“So, you’re a liar now?”</p>
<p>Castiel spins around to find that Dean has taken his place, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes low to ground.</p>
<p>“That’s not mine.”</p>
<p>Dean snaps his eyes up, “That so? Why’s your fake name on the bottle then, Mr. Knowles?”</p>
<p>“Because you told me to order those pills.” Castiel lies through his fucking teeth and says, “Those went missing last week from the medicine supplies stock and I reported it to you, remember?”</p>
<p>Dean nods, but his eyes are sharp, “Yeah, I looked into it.”</p>
<p>Dryly, he quips, “And what were the results of your investigation?”</p>
<p>“Well, as our self-declared medic, you’re the only other person who has access to the medical supplies.”</p>
<p>“I must have misplaced them then, because –“</p>
<p>“Dammit, Cas!” Dean erupts, stomping into the room and slamming the door behind him. “Stop it! Stop lying, stop pretending, stop acting like I’m a fucking idiot!”</p>
<p>With an exasperated huff, Castiel shrugs, “Listen, I am simply exploring all of my avenues.”</p>
<p>“Of what?” Dean asks, voice tight with sarcasm and he charges at Castiel, shoving a finger in his face. “Of ways to ruin your fucking life? This shit is changing you, Cas. You’re so different now.”</p>
<p>Castiel’s back hits the dresser and he shoves his hands at Dean’s chest, suddenly finding himself trapped. He raises his voice, “News flash, asshole! My life is already ruined and I’m not the same person I was when I met you, because I wasn’t human when we met!”</p>
<p>Dean falters for a moment. The anger diminishes and something new replaces it. Castiel doesn’t know the word for this emotion, but he has seen it before. It is as old as time. “Dunno why I tried to stop you. I should’ve known this would happen anyways,” Dean mutters with a resigned sigh, staring at Castiel like he is a stranger. Crestfallen, or something close to it. Castiel is confused, but then it hits him. It all clicks together, forming a clearer picture.</p>
<p>“Anyways?” He asks, keeping his voice low but there is a bite to it. The sound of an epiphany is clear in his cadence and they both know it. Dean’s jaw tightens and Castiel pushes further, “What? I’m like this in the future? You knew I’d do this, but you still let me smoke, gave me pills?” He lets out a smug laugh, but it’s not funny and he’s actually furious, “No wonder I’m already hooked.”</p>
<p>“I thought that if I could show you the right way, in moderation, how to do drugs and what kind to do then you wouldn’t… I dunno hide it or get so strung out that sometimes I think you stop breathing in your sleep.” Dean shouts back but he’s fraying at the edges, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “But I was wrong.”</p>
<p>“Why do you get to act all high and mighty then?” Castiel questions Dean honestly, but rage flows through him as he realizes this path that he is on is an immutable one. “You’re a liar, and a hypocrite, too. You, the one who believes we can’t change or cheat fate, tried to alter the future and lied about it straight to my face.”</p>
<p>“I thought I could help you.” Dean’s voice wavers with insecurity, fists clenched by his sides, like he’s going to break something. “’Cause I’m so fucking in love with you, baby, but I wanna be enough for you, Cas.”</p>
<p>“You are enough, Dean.”</p>
<p>Is he, though? Castiel aches, but he doesn’t know what for.</p>
<p>“Then why do you gotta smoke a bowl every time we fuck, hm? Where d’you go in the mornings when I reach to kiss you awake? How do you look me in the eye, so high you can barely function, and think I don’t see it?”</p>
<p>“It’s not…” Castiel is at a loss, and he is surprised that there is a wetness on his cheeks, and his throat is constricting; it’s hard to breathe. God, he wants a cigarette – no, a spliff. “I don’t know how to explain this to you. It’s the only thing that makes me feel even remotely angelic. I need them to feel normal, to feel okay.”</p>
<p>Huffing air out between clenched teeth, eyebrows raised in disbelief, Dean bites his bottom lip and says, “You used to say I made you feel holy.”</p>
<p>“You do,” Castiel insists, hands reaching desperately for Dean now, to bring him back, to hold him close, to kiss him, but he steps away, backing himself against the door. His body hits the wood with a soft thud that makes Castiel jump. He looks so small, eyes red with tears and lip quivering, like a child.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t,” Dean spits back with a frown, voice cracking and face contorting in agony, and shakes his head. He cracks the door open and looks over his shoulder one last time, whispering, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch. Let me know when you love me more than those pills.”</p>
<p>In the wake of Dean’s leaving, Castiel takes three to calm his nerves and to ease the ache, but it doesn’t change the fact that their bed is cold without Dean in it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>June 10<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>“What the fuck is this?”</p>
<p>Dean briefly glances at the list of names Castiel throws down in front of him but doesn’t stop cleaning his gun. He doesn’t look at Castiel either. Instead, he shrugs and firmly responds, “The list of people going on the mission this week.”</p>
<p>Castiel huffs, “Why am I not on the list?” He’s trying to act angry, but, in reality, he wants so badly to reach out and brush his finger along Dean’s brow, ceasing the worry and planning with a simple touch. He must stop himself from doing it out of habit. They don’t touch like that anymore…</p>
<p>“Because you’re compromised right now.” Dean replies coolly, setting his gun down on the table and wiping his hands on a rag. He still won’t look at Castiel. “You can’t go, Cas.”</p>
<p>Castiel slams his hand down on the table, “Dean, that’s not fair.” It’s really a ploy to get his attention – to earn his gaze back – but the outburst doesn’t work. Castiel misses the haze of clouded emerald pinning him in place.</p>
<p><em>Please,</em> he thinks, <em>please look at me again. I need to be seen by you. I am only real if I am seen by you.</em></p>
<p>Dean looks up at him, “Would it be fair to any of the others if you fucked up this mission because you’re high?”</p>
<p>“No,” Castiel whispers after a moment to consider this possibility. “It wouldn’t be.” Nodding in agreement, Dean stands and tucks his gun into the holster he wears around his thigh. Turning his back, Dean heads for the door, and Castiel considers calling after him, begging him to stay, to talk, to take him back. But the words catch in his throat, drowning him the second Dean is out of sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>June 12<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Castiel frowns down at the cup of coffee in his hand and sighs when the silence settles over the kitchen. It is the first mission either of them has gone on without giving or receiving a kiss goodbye. It feels all wrong, like it’s cursed in some way. Castiel swears Dean planned the mission simply to get away from him or to spite him. Probably both. Either way, it’s working, because last night Castiel prayed for the first time in two years.</p>
<p>He prayed that Dean would come home to him in one piece. The deafening stillness of the space beside him in the dark, sheets cold and smelling less of Dean by the day, told Castiel that God was not listening.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone!</p><p>I'm sorry for the delay in posting. I was in a car wreck the same week that I started a new job. It's been a really weird month. I'm doing alright, but I just can't promise a consistent posting schedule right now. I'm going to update when I can, as often as I can. And I'm really determined to finish this story, so I won't pull another Still Breathing on you... (if any of you actually experienced me ditching a story for 4 years and coming back to it, then I'm super sorry). </p><p>Alright, so here is the other thing. This is going to get pretty dark. There will be explicit descriptions of opioid/other drug use. I know this subject is sensitive, and I don't want to romanticize it in any way. I want to seriously depict Castiel's drug addiction in a light that shows how devastating it can be on a person's life. I have family members who have struggled with drug/substance abuse and this is a subject that's close to my heart. </p><p>Okay, with all of that out of the way, here's Chapter 6! Please leave comments!!! I read every single one and I feel like it holds me accountable for posting new updates because it reminds me that there are people actually invested in reading my writing. I LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU ALL.</p><p>Follow me on tumblr @casbelieves.</p><p>Xo</p><p>- J</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>June 15<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>There is so much glass embedded in his skin, scattered along his arms, down his legs, sticking into his side. The air is thick with a metallic and feral scent of pain that will linger for hours even after they clean with disinfectant. Castiel swears the stench of blood can never truly be washed away.</p><p>There is a burgeoning blush of an impending bruise on his ribs, a deep gash that curves from the bottom of Dean’s brow up to his hairline, blood as red as a handful of sun-kissed cherries dripping from his eyebrow, and a possible elbow dislocation. Dean is a complete and utter mess, but he’s alive. He’s breathing.</p><p>When the team arrived back from the mission, Dean was immediately placed in the makeshift infirmary, bloody and irritable. By the time the team was lifting him out of the back of the van on a makeshift stretcher, he was awake, groaning in discomfort but still muttering out orders. There will always be things to be done. A fearless and dedicated leader would never let a near-death experience slow him down.</p><p>Apparently, seven or so Croats chased Dean until he had no other choice but to jump off the fourth floor of a parking garage, crashing through a collection of trees and shrubbery before landing on top of an abandoned car. He was unconscious when the others found him; Jody says they had to carry him to the van and they came straight back to base after it happened even though the mission was supposed to last two more days. They didn’t find the underground headquarters of Crowley’s artifact smuggling ring, and now the Colt is lost, again. Dean is furious.</p><p>As the designated medical lead until they can find someone better, Cas oversees Dean’s welfare once he’s placed on the cot in the basement. No matter how much Dean argues, trying to convince someone to stay behind, it doesn’t work. For a moment, Jo lingers after helping Castiel undress Dean down to his boxers. She carefully watches the two of them and holds Dean’s ruined clothes in her hands just a few feet from the staircase.</p><p>She clears her throat and says, “Holler if you need me.”</p><p>And then she locks eyes with Dean for a second too long, communicating only in a way that close friends do, through their eyes and small expressions. Castiel only ever does that with Dean; that’s how he knows that Dean is currently dreading being left alone with Cas. He knows that look. As soon as Jo is gone, Castiel awkwardly shifts and moves closer to Dean.</p><p>Closing his eyes in defeat, Dean finally rests his head on the pillow and whispers, “Cas…”</p><p>And it takes Castiel a second to realize that it’s not a question or a warning, but an acknowledgement. An understanding that this form of bodily contact is necessary for survival. They need it purely to sustain themselves. So, Castiel gets to work repairing a body that he knows better than the vessel he currently inhabits. It is the first time they have touched in a week, but it feels like a decade, a millennium. Castiel would know. He’s lived through eons.</p><p>To Castiel’s surprise and relief, after assessing him thoroughly, he discovers that Dean will likely be okay. Dean inhales sharply through clenched teeth as Castiel prods along his ribcage, checking for any further signs of breakage.</p><p>“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Dean winces again and flinches at the contact, “you ain’t exactly gentle.”</p><p>“I could go upstairs and ask Jo to pick this glass out of you.” He stills, hands hovering, softly skimming the skin of Dean’s back with his fingertips. Castiel retracts his hands slowly, “Are you still angry with me?”</p><p>“I dunno; are you high?” Dean’s voice is level, but his eyes pierce through Castiel in that way that only Dean can.</p><p>Castiel tries to remain indifferent, composed, as he reaches for a pill bottle, twisting off the cap and shaking one pill out into his hand. Extending it to Dean with a cup of water from the table beside them, Castiel thinks about begging for forgiveness. He wonders what that might look like – how it might turn out. Technically, he is a little buzzed still from the hydrocodone he took earlier, but Dean doesn’t need to know that. Dean stares at Castiel’s hands like he wants to rip them apart, but he doesn’t take the pill and Castiel doesn’t answer the question. They’re at a standstill.</p><p>“C’mon, babe.” Castiel forgets to filter himself and Dean’s eyes shoot back up, shocked and hurt. Cas mutters quickly, “Sorry.”</p><p>Dean sighs, recovering from the loss of composure, and accepts the pill and water with a blank face, lowering his eyes to the ground like he saw something he shouldn’t have. He swallows the pill and hands the cup back to Castiel. He whispers, “Thanks.”</p><p>Castiel accepts the cup, “Dean, please –” He won’t look at Castiel. Why not? “Can we talk about this?”</p><p>Firmly, shifting with discomfort, he says, “You should get to work on this glass.”</p><p>Castiel stands idly to the side of the cot with the empty cup in his hand, fighting the urge to soothe and cradle the man before him. He wants to put Dean back together piece by piece, and he will, but it will not be in the way that lovers do. They are not lovers anymore – they are soldiers. Comrades. Castiel is simply another follower now, roaming in the dark and blindly following the only hope this world has left. Like any good soldier, Castiel listens to his commanding officer.</p><p>Without another word, Castiel pulls a chair up next to Dean after he gathers his sterilized materials. He sets to work, hands steady and breath gentle, collecting shards of glass from Dean’s back, his arms, his legs, his hands.</p><p>It takes at least two hours to remove most of the glass. By the time Dean can sit up, he is exhausted and loopy from the sedative he took, just like Castiel. They sit directly across from each other, knees bumping together and toes touching. Castiel can feel Dean’s breath ghosting over him in hot little waves.</p><p>Bent over in concentration, Castiel adjusts the bedside lamp over Dean’s hands and delicately extracts the last two pieces of glass from his palms. Crimson surfaces immediately, trickling down his wrist, and a drop of blood escapes to meet the concrete. He quickly presses a clean bandage into Dean’s palm and holds it still in his hand, threading their fingers together on instinct.</p><p>Dean doesn’t protest or move away; they just sit there for a few minutes as Dean breathes through the pain and, when he finally looks up, eyes locking with Castiel’s, he looks relieved – grateful, even. It’s the first time he has looked happy to see Castiel in days.</p><p>Castiel doesn’t have time to process his thoughts before they turn into actions, and he simply resigns himself to the fact that there is no stopping this. He will always crave Dean more than anything else on this planet. He will always want Dean more than the drugs, but he doesn’t know how to stop this addiction any more than he can stop himself from loving Dean. He is given an impossible choice – if it even is a choice at all – and it’s slowly tearing him apart, bit by bit until there will be nothing left of him. There will only be a shell; something hollow and useless. So, what does he do? He presses his dry lips to the firm outline of Dean’s, but there is no response.</p><p>He mumbles at the corner of Dean’s mouth, “I miss you. Need you, please.” It sounds so desperate and inexplicably weak, but it’s true. Castiel needs Dean. He kisses Dean again and, for a second, Dean gives in, releasing a breathy, impatient noise and kissing Castiel back with more force than Castiel expected given Dean’s current state. With his bandaged hands, he fists at the front of Castiel’s shirt and kisses him like he’s the breath of life.</p><p>It only lasts a moment, though, before Dean pulls away entirely, taking his lips and hands and body with him. Clearing his throat and keeping his head down, he murmurs, “You should go, Cas.”</p><p>“Dean – ”</p><p>“Have Jo come down to stitch me up,” Dean continues, moving further away from Castiel. Every inch feels like a mile. Castiel gently cups his hands around Dean’s face, avoiding the cuts and bruises, but Dean turns his head away and sits back until Castiel begins to realize that this is going all wrong.</p><p>“Cas,” Dean’s jaw flexes with tension, and he snaps, “Just get the fuck out of here, please.”</p><p>Reluctantly, he does as he’s told, fleeing the basement and locking himself in the upstairs bathroom with his booze and his pills and his determination to not feel empty, to feel whole, to feel complete. He does as he’s told but not in the way that matters. He leaves Dean alone, and it hurts like hell.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>June 21<sup>st</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>Normally, Castiel wouldn’t notice if someone slept in a different room, but he does notice that Dean stopped sleeping on the cot in the infirmary two nights ago. He notices the way Jo and Dean spend more time together; the way she dotes on him, tending to his injuries and helping him around the house. He notices when Dean comes out of her bedroom as Castiel quietly tiptoes down the stairs at the crack of dawn. He notices the hickey peeking out from under Dean’s shirt collar.</p><p>Nobody else is awake. It’s just Castiel and Dean, staring at each other from across the living room, quiet as mice. If Castiel were a stronger man, he would say something, but he’s not strong and he’s hardly a man. Dean mumbles a greeting and disappears into the kitchen.</p><p>Castiel hurriedly exits through the side door and finds a quiet place in the junkyard to cry, waiting anxiously for his morning dose of opioids to kick in.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>July 7<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>Castiel feels like absolute shit. It’s been exactly twelve hours since he discovered that he is out of those precious pink ovals that allow him to climb his way to the heaven that’s locked away in his mind. The withdrawal is starting to hit him hard now, wracking through his body with every second that slips by. Castiel shivers uncontrollably in the back seat of the Impala as Dean speeds down the endless and empty highway with Jo chattering away from the front seat. Castiel hates himself for hating her because she really is a nice girl. She just picked the wrong person to sleep with.</p><p>Dean’s not listening to her though. Castiel can feel Dean’s eyes on him in the rearview mirror, observing and assessing him. Contracting every muscle in his body, Castiel tries to control the shakes. He closes his eyes and pushes down the nausea that washes over him in heavy waves. Jo’s oblivious to Dean’s inattentiveness. She goes on and on about the upcoming move to Gull Point.</p><p>Dean cuts her off, speaking up, “Hey, Cas, you alright back there?”</p><p>“Mhm,” He hums, attempting to sound normal, but even he doubts himself. He’s worried if he opens his mouth that he’ll puke. He does it anyways. “Just a little car sick. I suppose that I’m still acclimating to the sensations of car rides as a human.”</p><p>Castiel holds Dean’s gaze in the mirror for another second, but Dean leaves it at that, tearing his green eyes back to the road and continuing to drive in silence, Led Zeppelin playing faintly in the background. Jo picks up where she left off. The sound of her voice is grating.</p><p>Castiel’s certain that Dean brought him along today, just the three of them, as a new form of punishment. He twists the knife deeper a little more every day, and Castiel just wants him to finish the fucking job.</p><p>They’re making a quick trip to the nearest convenience store to steal what’s left of their cigarettes. The smokers back at Bobby’s are becoming irritable, and that’s the last thing they need right now. People are as high strung as it is.</p><p>Dean pulls up to the shop, parking directly in front of the barricaded front door.</p><p>“Alright, Cas and me will scope out the inside,” Dean cuts the engine and quickly looks around to determine if they’re in any immediate danger. He gives a curt nod to Jo, “You watch the front and the car.”</p><p>They gather their weapons, and Dean and Castiel set to work pushing through the furniture stacked at the entrance. Jo secures the perimeter. Once they break inside, Dean nods at Castiel to go left as he takes the right side of the shop.</p><p>Gun raised, Castiel slowly steps over scattered magazines and boxes of cereal, careful not to trip and fall. He scans the canned food section and shoves what’s available into his knapsack, then he moves on. Off to the side, a door is cracked open enough for Castiel to see light coming from the other side. He automatically tenses, anticipating danger ahead. Keeping his finger on the trigger, he slowly advances forward and nudges the door open with his foot, aiming his weapon at two figures crouched in the corner of the room.</p><p>“Stop!” The first one, a blonde women who can’t be older than twenty-five, shouts, “Please, don’t shoot! We’re not like them – we’re human.”</p><p>Pausing in the entrance, Castiel quickly surveys the room to find that it’s being used as a temporary shelter. Two women are huddled on sleeping bags with a camping lantern between them, illuminating the room in a hazy orange glow. The room smells of cigarettes and weed.</p><p>“Stay right there,” He commands, still pointing the gun at them, but his hand is starting to shake. Another wave of nausea hits him. His knees threaten to buckle under him. He looks over his shoulder and shouts, “Dean, get over here! I found two people.”</p><p>“Are they people or Croats?”</p><p>Castiel rolls his eyes, “I’m pretty sure they’re people.”</p><p>Dean appears at the other end of the aisle, briskly making his way to where Castiel stands. He takes one glance at the trembling women and asks them, “Any of those fuckers bleed on you?”</p><p>They both shake their heads, clinging to each other, and Dean nods at Castiel. He lowers his gun and hopes Dean didn’t notice his tremor and the copious amounts of sweat dripping down his face.</p><p>Too focused on the girls, Dean raises his eyebrows at them, “What’re your names?”</p><p>This time the red head answers for the pair. She gives them a soft smile, “I’m Rhea and this is Sonia. We’ve been hiding here since those things took over Sioux Falls.”</p><p>“Well, um, we’ve got a camp about fifteen miles East with a bunch of other survivors. You’re welcome to come with us,” Dean offers. “It’s not much, but at least you’ll be with a larger group. We have supplies and electricity.”</p><p>Rhea and Sonia share a glance but, inevitably, they agree to come with them. Helping the two women pack up their belongings, Castiel can’t help but notice a pile of needles in the far corner, a collection of empty pill bottles, and the glassy-eyed look of someone riding an insane high.</p><p>Checking over his shoulder to make sure that Dean is out of earshot, Castiel realizes that this is his chance. Kneeling beside Rhea, Castiel hands her a collection of books and they lock eyes.</p><p>“Hey, Rhea,” He keeps his voice low and holds up a pill bottle, rattling it gently, “Can I have one of these?”</p><p>She shrugs nonchalantly and gives him a sly smile, “Knock yourself out, gorgeous.”</p><p>After several long years of silence, Castiel considers that God has finally decided to answer one of his prayers.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>July 15<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>As smoothly as the passing summer breeze, Rhea offers him heroin, but Castiel hesitates. He thinks of Dean, of how utterly disgusted he would be, and then he remembers how far gone he is, how pitiful, how unlovable. Dean has moved on. He does not need or want Castiel. Not anymore. This is enough of a reason to say yes.</p><p>“Sure,” He says shyly, nodding under the lamplight of the porch as they pass a cigarette between them. He hands it off to her. “Where though?”</p><p>She takes one last drag and tosses the still burning stub to the floor, crushing it with her heel. Her red hair covers most of her face in a cascade of ringlets, but the dark circles under her eyes are prominent as the shadows cast down across her face.</p><p>“Don’t you have your own room?”</p><p>Taking the not-so-subtle cue, he nods, “Yes, follow me.”</p><p>On the way to his bedroom, they pass Dean and Jo, who are diligently focused on a layout of Gull Point, discussing cabin placements and construction of new facilities. It doesn’t stop Dean from looking up just in time to catch Castiel’s eyes as he takes Rhea’s hand and leads her up to his bedroom. Castiel thinks that Dean looks hurt, or maybe his imagination is playing tricks on him again. It does that a lot lately.</p><p>In the privacy of his room, Rhea leads him to the bed, pulling out a few things from her bag. She uses her scarf to tie off the top of part of Castiel’s arm, just above his elbow, and whispers calming words to him as she inserts a needle into his arm. She says that it will feel amazing. Out of this world, she tells him.</p><p>It is.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hi all!</p>
<p>If you haven't already, check out the Spotify Playlist for this fic:</p>
<p>Spotify Playlist is <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/14g1P2TtTEkPiphBFedKjb?si=pz5NnXu9RTGX1WszFziUag">here.</a></p>
<p>Warnings in this chapter for: suicidal thoughts &amp; explicit drug use.</p>
<p>This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but super important!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>July 18<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Castiel watches how they interact – the small gestures, quick glances, sneaking off into dark corners of the house – but he also recognizes the small gazes that Dean sends his way when Jo is not looking, like he knows Castiel is watching. It makes Castiel’s heart flip somersaults inside his chest in a painful, tumultuous way.</p>
<p>He is not surprised. Dean is seeking comfort elsewhere and so is Castiel. They are not right for each other. They do not share some profound bond. They are not meant to be. Castiel tells himself this running list of excuses from the moment he wakes up until the moment he’s too high to process the words. Castiel supposes Dean is doing the same, trying to convince himself that he is better off by playing house with someone else.</p>
<p>But is it really working?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>July 20<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Castiel wants to die. Withdrawal hits him harder these days and more frequently. If he isn’t nodding out, then he’s suffering or planning his next opportunity to take anything he can get his hands on. Castiel scans his room, looking over at the naked shape of the woman in his bed. Castiel doesn’t remember her name, but he knows that she’s new – recently found three towns over in an abandoned Walgreens – and that her body is warm. It is better than waking to an isolating chill.</p>
<p>Quietly, to not wake his guest, Castiel crawls out of bed and heads to the window, cracking it slightly. He opens his top dresser drawer and pulls out an old cigarette carton that he uses to store his pre-rolled joints for mornings like these. It just happens to be that every morning is like this one.</p>
<p>He lights up and inhales deeply, savoring the burn and holding it in his lungs. He bends and blows the smoke out the window; it cascades out into the open air in a thick plume before disappearing entirely against the fevered red sky as the sun rises through the trees. As it ascends, climbing higher into the heavens, Castiel comes to terms with how far he has fallen from grace, and he thinks again about how much he wants to die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>July 31<sup>st</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Sprawled out in the back of a junk car, Castiel lets his breath escape through the open windows with the summer breeze and wonders if a little piece of grace continues to escape from him with every act of human function. He misses his true form – that unnamable, iridescent, cosmic thing he once was – and the power that came with it. This body is not his. He feels it in the set of his bones, the flex of his muscles, the rise of his lungs. His true form existed without substance or necessity. He was complete and perfect and pure.</p>
<p>Now, he is revolting, strung out and hiding in an abandoned corner of the Singer junkyard with a needle still in the arm that is not truly his. If only God could see him now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>August 8<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>“Cas? That you?”</p>
<p>Pausing at the bottom of the staircase, Castiel regrets the executive decision he made to smoke his morning bowl on the porch rather than from the windowsill of his bedroom. The sky is too pretty – too open and endless – for Castiel to admire from inside the house, but is it really worth the trouble?</p>
<p>Scuffing his heel against the banister, Castiel takes a deep breath to prepare himself. He follows the familiar voice coming from the kitchen. Dean sits at the kitchen table, glaring at the papers in front of him with a concentration that cannot be broken.</p>
<p>Lingering a few feet away, Castiel speaks softly, “You called?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, um…” Dean tears his eyes away his maps. His eyes drag over Castiel’s frame, as if he is taking an inventory, but he quickly points his gaze back to the map in front of him when he catches Castiel observing him. He bites at his cuticles, “I’m trynna plan out our route to Gull Point, but I need a second opinion.”</p>
<p>Castiel snorts a laugh, “And you trust mine?”</p>
<p>Dean gives him an incredulous look, as if he is shocked to find that Castiel believes he can’t be trusted. He shrugs, “Why wouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>Castiel rolls ankle anxiously. Is this a trap? It’s the first time in a month that Dean has asked to speak to him alone and, even if it’s a professional matter, Castiel can’t help but feel nervous. They don’t do this anymore; they avoid each other like the plague, rely on others for help, and keep their distance. It’s an undisclosed agreement that Castiel adheres to simply because he doesn’t trust himself around Dean. Castiel wants him too badly.</p>
<p>With a feigned confidence in his step, he crosses the room and takes a seat beside Dean, but he stays far enough away that Castiel can’t smell the clean scent of Dean’s soap or feel the heat radiating off him.</p>
<p>Pushing those thoughts away, to the distant recesses of his sleep deprived brain, Castiel examines the map closely, muttering, “We should take the long route, considering the city of Brandon is overrun with Croats, even though it will take us an extra hour or so, caravanning.”</p>
<p>“I forgot about Brandon…” Dean mulls this over, reaching into Castiel’s space and tracing his long index finger across the map, and Castiel’s eyes follow the motion. Dean tilts his head to the side, “You think we have enough gas for that?”</p>
<p>Dean smells like dew-kissed evergreens.</p>
<p>“We aren’t leaving anytime soon, so I don’t see why we can’t do a few more siphoning runs before we pack up and head East.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” In agreement, Dean nods, marking the map with a red pen. “Thanks, I – uh – appreciate it, Cas.”</p>
<p>Castiel nods vacantly, trying to numb that aching sensation where he knows his heart is, and stares at the spot on his hand where their fingers brushed ever so slightly when he handed the map back. Shifting out of the rickety old chair and lifting himself back to his feet, Castiel moves for the door. As he turns the handle, Dean calls out from behind him, voice rough as though he’s holding something back, “How are you?”</p>
<p>Frozen with his hand on the knob, Castiel swallows thickly and considers every possible answer he could give. He could come clean about the drugs. Cry. Beg. Ask for help. What would Dean say? Where would that leave them?</p>
<p>Castiel steadies himself, “Why do you care?”</p>
<p>The chair underneath Dean creaks as he pushes away from the table and stands, tapping his fingers restlessly against his thigh. He looks at Castiel tenderly, in a way that Castiel doesn’t quite understand, but it leaves him feeling utterly wrecked.</p>
<p>With a weak smile and a pit in his stomach, Castiel shrugs, “Never been better.”</p>
<p>Castiel leaves before he can hear the disappointed sigh that he knows will follow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>August 10<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p>
<p>Stumbling out of the bathroom, Castiel laughs when he runs into the edge of the bathroom counter, body loose under the influence of god knows what was in that needle. Rhea just handed him a little brown paper bag, and, in a flash, she was gone. The fine brownish powder looked just like it always does. But he’s starting to feel like this stuff – whatever she gave him – is not the same as what they’ve been using for the last few weeks. It feels dirty, coursing through his veins. Castiel wants to crawl out of his skin.</p>
<p>Shit – did he leave the needle out or did he put it back in the bag? Castiel pauses, slumping against the closed door to look around the bathroom, heavy-lidded eyes scanning the floor for any evidence left behind. It seems that he did successfully clean up his mess, but that’s when he notices the empty toilet paper roll. He could be a bad roommate and not replace it, but he’s feeling extra useful today. The least he can do is replace the roll.</p>
<p>After tucking the brown bag behind his headboard, he makes his way through the dark house, carefully walking down two flights of stairs until he reaches the basement. Castiel does not intend to run into Dean, alone, in the supply room, but fate seems to have other plans. As soon as he sees the outline of Dean’s frame under the harsh fluorescent lights, he tries to be as quiet as possible, making himself small, and enters the room. He heads to the section of toiletries without acknowledging the other man’s presence.</p>
<p>Jesus Christ – he’s so fucking high right now. Why did he think this was a good idea? Act normal. Back straight. Don’t say a word. Eyes to the ground. Maybe Dean won’t notice; maybe he –</p>
<p>Behind him, he hears Dean clear his throat, so Castiel glances over his shoulder to find that Dean is staring intently at him, arms crossed over his chest, clipboard tucked under his armpit. His limbs are so heavy, dragging him down, and time moves slowly.</p>
<p>Calmly, turning his attention back to locating toilet paper, Castiel asks, “Do you need something from me?”</p>
<p>“No, I just… “ Dean’s voice drops off as if he’s in thought, but there’s an edge to his voice that is all too familiar, something painful and hopeless, something Castiel hates.</p>
<p>Castiel pushes on, trying his best to focus solely on the reason he came down to the basement. Toilet paper. Right. Get it and go. He rifles through the materials, but he can’t think of anything except the feeling of Dean’s eyes on his back.</p>
<p>“You alright, Cas?” Dean’s voice is closer now. “You’re shaking.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” Castiel mutters, bending low and grabbing the toilet paper with unsteady hands. He has to reach out and stabilize himself against the shelves when he straightens back up, head rushing and plummeting through his vertebrae one at a time. For a second, he thinks he’s completely lost it but then his vision clears, and he manages, “Since when do you suddenly give a shit about me?”</p>
<p>He really didn’t mean for it to come out so harshly. Out of fear and shame, he keeps his back turned, eyes on the gray expanse of the wall as he waits for Dean to cast him away forever.</p>
<p>Dean shuffles his feet and gently murmurs, “Just ‘cause we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, Cas.”</p>
<p>Castiel whips around and he loses his balance, falling backwards against the shelving. Dean rushes forward, just feet away, but Castiel extends his arms to put distance between them and insists, “I’m <em>fine</em>, Dean.”</p>
<p>Dean stops and gazes at him in disbelief.</p>
<p>“You’re sick.” Dean says it so plainly. He doesn’t raise his voice, or blame Castiel, or call him a liar; he just gives Castiel a pleading look. “Let me help you.”</p>
<p>“I’m not – I’m just trying to – I’m not, Dean,” He’s fumbling, tongue rampant, body shaking and jerking, and he doesn’t know how to stop himself now. “I messed up… I really messed up.”</p>
<p>“What’re you on? It’s not the pills; I can tell.”</p>
<p>Castiel chokes on the word, built up like the nastiest of bile, “Heroin.”</p>
<p>“Fuck, Cas…” Dean releases a heavy sigh, eyes flickering over Castiel’s body, “Who gave you that shit? Where’d you even get it?”</p>
<p>“I know, I know, I know… fuck, I know.” He’s crumbling now, body revolting from his being, and he thinks he could sink and dissolve into the floor if he truly imagined it. “The girl, the one with the red hair, fuck, what’s ‘er name? Rain? No, no…”</p>
<p>“Rhea.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah – she gave it to me, left me some before she dipped this morning. I gave myself too much, I think. I don’t – this isn’t right, Dean – I feel like… I’m too far gone.”</p>
<p>“Cas,” Dean is directly in front of him now, arms reaching out to steady his body. His hands grip Castiel’s arms, thumbs brushing over the uncovered, fresh track marks on the insides of his forearm. It’s the middle of summer, but he should start wearing long sleeves. Dean dips his head to try and catch Castiel’s gaze, and it works. It is the most grounded Castiel has felt in months. He gives Castiel a soft, soothing smile, green eyes shining bright like emeralds, “It’s okay, look, I got you, alright?”</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry.” A sob courses through Castiel, wild and untamed, yanking the air from his lungs. His body caves forward into the solid mass of Dean’s chest, and he is relieved to find support there. His voice gives out and he croaks, “I need help.”</p>
<p>Dean’s arms wrap around his waist, tugging him closer as his hands fist into the fabric of Castiel’s shirt at the small of his back.</p>
<p>“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean presses his face into the hair at Castiel’s temple and inhales deeply, whispering, “S’alright, I’m here. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’m gonna take care of you. We’re gonna get you better.”</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>YOU ARE ALL IN FOR A TREAT. This is almost 5,000 words, which is a really long chapter, but you all deserve it after waiting almost a month for this update. </p><p>I have some news for you. I included a new and important tag to this story. It may cause some of you to stop reading, and that's okay! I totally understand. I've added "Major Character Death" as a tag, because it is, unfortunately, unavoidable in this story and I only just realized it recently. Obviously, I'm not going to spill any other details. Maybe some of you might be more into this story knowing that it's going to be a tragedy. Maybe not. </p><p>Regardless, I LOVE YOU ALL. As always, thank you all for your support, comments and kudos! Please let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments.</p><p>PSA: I have a beta now! Irena, you're amazing. Thank you for all your help with this chapter and I'm so looking forward to working with you more on this story as it progresses. Go check out Irena's <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayreisha/pseuds/you-cant-spell-subtext-without">AO3</a> and <a href="https://you-cant-spell-subtext-without.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p>
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    <p>
  <strong>August 12<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>The sun is setting. Light is here, or it could be, in the empty corners and on the dust-covered tabletops. Flickering shadows sweep across the floor in slow motion, mirroring the trees that peer at Castiel from outside his window. Their rustling leaves call to him, begging him to bring life back into this body. But there is so much pain, here, in this room. Curled tightly around himself in a sweaty heap at the center of his mattress, Castiel shakes through the nausea and thinks he’d be better off dead. </p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>Too wounded to acknowledge or respond to the new presence, Castiel sinks further, dreaming of nonexistence. He burrows into his pillow, effectively shutting the light out as he cocoons himself, awaiting the dreaded signal to break out of his chrysalis. The bed shifts under the weight of someone sitting down beside him. </p><p>Castiel leans into the cool sensation of Dean’s hand at the top of his forehead. Dean murmurs, “You’re burnin’ up.” The touch disappears, and Castiel isn’t sure if it was real or imagined, but it leaves him feeling raw. </p><p>A fever dream. That’s what Dean’s hands feel like – a fever dream – something partially lucid, close enough to touch but just out of reach, a subconscious need.</p><p>“Dean,” Castiel’s voice comes out hoarse, fraying at the edges. Dean’s hands return a moment later, dabbing a cool, wet rag across Castiel’s face in a desperate attempt to break the fever.  </p><p>Hushing him gently, Dean rests his free hand over Castiel’s, “It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.”</p><p>Crying softly, the tears swimming in his eyes blurring the shape of Dean - Castiel lets himself be seen.  He opens the door, allowing Dean to be a witness to his pain, and it provides some relief. </p><p>With shaky hands, Castiel grasps at the sheets and sobs, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…”</p><p>Castiel thinks he says it out loud, but he can’t be sure. In the morning, he will only remember the dream-like film of freckles and the hue of woodland ivy. He will recall the red sky, baked in a summer haze outside his window, sun fading fast. When the sky awakens bathed in crystal blue the next morning, Castiel will find Dean asleep in the chair beside him. </p><p>And he will be grateful for another chance to appreciate the beauty of living in this moment, with this man, on this God-forsaken planet.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>August 14<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>Even though he wants to scream and cry and throw an absolute fit, Castiel knows that this must be done. He is a cataclysmic disaster, bursting at the seams of his stolen body. Jimmy’s body. Human. The heart beating inside him lurches as Dean dumps the remainder of Castiel’s copious and vast drug collection into the toilet, flushing the combination of powders and pills. It swirls into nothing but clear water and white porcelain, clean and pure as ever.  </p><p>But Castiel still feels as dirty as the murky waste coursing through the sewer pipes; his blood is tainted, defiled, disgusting.</p><p>He hasn’t consumed an illicit substance in three days, but it took a lot of coaxing for Castiel to finally divulge where he hid his drugs. Dean practically tore their old room apart before Castiel admitted to having other stashes on various parts of the property. It took Dean all of thirty minutes to collect everything. </p><p>Now, Castiel is wishing he’d kept at least one hidden box, one little bag, one pill to take the edge off. But he didn’t – he was good and he did as he was told. He gave it all up, because Dean begged him to get clean. </p><p>Castiel is as filthy as ever before.</p><p>Dean and Castiel were up late last night discussing a plan to recovery, or something as close to it as possible. Dean understands – they all have their vices – it is the apocalypse after all. Weed is a “maybe” as Dean puts it. It’s natural, it helps Castiel sleep, it’s better than drinking or popping pills. It’s better than heroin. But, right now, Castiel needs a clean break. Pills, heroin, weed, alcohol – all of it. Gone. </p><p>For now. </p><p>But that was last night, before Dean flushed every single drug Castiel has obtained in the last few months. And now Castiel can only focus on the possibility of getting high somehow. </p><p>A pestering question ruminates in the stagnant air between them as they stare at the swirling toilet bowl. </p><p>They exchange a glance, and Castiel knows that Dean is relieved by the slack line of his shoulders and soft curve of his lips, that he will sleep easy tonight knowing that Castiel has nothing left to hide. But, even if he’s relieved, there is still hesitation in his every move like he’s worried that he’ll spook Castiel back into addiction.</p><p>“Can I survive this?” </p><p>Castiel says it quietly, as if he almost doesn’t want to hear the reply. Dean used to tell him to never ask questions that you don’t want the answer to, and he supposes that rule applies to this situation too. </p><p>Avoiding eye contact, Dean shuffles his feet, “Do you want to?”</p><p>“Yes,” Castiel says, but the word is a thick stone in his throat, weighing him down with the expectation of it. He wants to reach out, take Dean’s hand, bring it to his lips and kiss each knuckle. A silent token of his appreciation for Dean’s diligent work. </p><p>Instead, he keeps his distance and whispers, “Thank you.”</p><p>Castiel retreats from the room, mumbling that he needs to lie down, and Dean moves as if to stop him, but his hand never catches Castiel’s sleeve. Pretending that he didn’t notice the faltering movement, Castiel backs away from the room and locks himself in his room to wallow away whatever semblance of self he has left.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>August 17<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>It’s just past three in the morning and the Singer home is silent except for the soft creak of the wood floors as Castiel descends the stairs. He maneuvers through the dark house with precision, having committed the layout to memory. </p><p>Surprised to see light streaming from the kitchen doorway, Castiel pauses at the bottom of the stairs and considers his options. There is only one other person who would be awake at this hour. </p><p>It’s not that he’s actively avoiding Dean like he was before. Something has changed between them, but Castiel is still cautious, anticipating another fall out. Because, at this point, he knows a relapse is inevitable. He knows that the possibility of him falling into old habits is a lot more likely than staying on the beaten path. </p><p>And the last thing he wants to do is to drag Dean into his mess again. </p><p>Dean doesn’t stir from his spot at the kitchen table. He’s clearly fallen asleep, body limply collapsed, head resting on the rough, unpolished wood strewn with maps and notes. As Castiel approaches, he takes in Dean’s peaceful expression. For a minute Castiel allows himself to enjoy watching over Dean like he has done so many times before. Dean dreams, and Castiel hopes that he is somewhere far off and better than here.</p><p>Castiel skims his fingertips to the edge of Dean’s cheek and he startles awake, pushing Castiel away on instinct before he registers his surroundings. </p><p>Dean relaxes when they lock eyes , the green connecting with blue. Running a hand over his mouth with a yawn, Dean leans back in the chair and gazes up at him.</p><p>He quirks up a brow, “What’re you doing up?”</p><p>“I couldn’t sleep,” Castiel answers, sitting beside Dean at the table. His gaze roams over the endless stacks of maps. “I suppose I could ask you the same thing.”</p><p>Dean lifts his hands as if to defend himself, but he falters, staying silent for too long. He slumps forward, resting his elbows on the table before dropping his face in his hands.</p><p>“Good people are gonna die on the way over to Gull Point,” Dean announces defeatedly. “We’re gonna leave here with thirty and arrive there with twenty, because there are hundreds – hell – probably <em>thousands</em> of Croats out there. And there are thirty of us. What am I supposed to do with those fucking odds?”</p><p>“Accept the shitty hand you were dealt and improvise,” Castiel responds. “You were the one who told me to roll with the fucking punches.”</p><p>Dean huffs in frustration, “From day one, I knew this was gonna fall on me. I saw it in 2014, and I keep thinking I can try to change it somehow.” </p><p>He rubs the remnants of sleep out of his eyes dejectedly. “This whole path, no matter what I do to try and plan it out, I can’t. No amount of maps or deals or manpower will change the outcome.” </p><p>Castiel tries to sound optimistic,“But you can try.”</p><p>“I just don’t get it, Cas.” The timbre of Dean’s voice vibrates with frustration. “It’s all part of this grand plan or whatever, but I drew a short straw.”</p><p>He looks up at Castiel, his face drawn and tired. “I’m the one whose gotta take care of all these people and stop the fucking devil who also happens to be possessing my baby brother? Who the fuck decided it had to be me?” </p><p>His fist lands on the table, making Castiel flinch, but his gaze on Dean is unwavering.</p><p>“God.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes tear away from Castiel’s, searching the wallpaper, a fleeting, exhausted ache behind them. </p><p>“I’m just one guy, Cas.” </p><p>And Castiel witnesses Dean in an entirely new way. Sitting beside him, Castiel is awestruck by simply being in Dean’s presence. He radiates a divine energy that Castiel noticed when they first met and, even without his grace, Castiel can still see Dean’s soul.  Like the most holy of light.</p><p>Dean Winchester is and always will be uniquely destined – handpicked by God himself. </p><p>A little laugh passes his lips, and Castiel bites back a smile just in time, “You’re not <em>just </em>one guy; you’re Dean Winchester.”</p><p>“That supposed to mean something special?”  Dean’s posture is closed off and self-deprecating.</p><p>“Dean, you’re not –” Fiddling with his thumbs to keep his rising anxiety occupied, Castiel asks, “You have no clue, do you?” </p><p>Castiel leans back in his chair, easy and slow, eyes steady on Dean’s. </p><p>He continues, “I know you, Dean. I brought you back to life, reconstructed your body and mind, and you are the most extraordinary man to have ever walked this planet.”</p><p>“You’re making me blush,” Dean is trying to tease, shooting him a cocky wink, but Castiel can tell it’s a cover. </p><p>Castiel’s eyes drop to Dean’s mouth, watching his tongue peek out at the corner. Something in his chest wavers. </p><p>He knows Dean is deflecting now, using banter and flirtation to lighten the mood and distract from the topic at hand. But a small part of Castiel wishes the flush in Dean’s cheeks was real -  the product of  Castiel’s own words. </p><p>“Cas?”</p><p>Caught staring, again. Castiel clears his throat nervously, “Hm?”</p><p>“I asked you how you’re feeling.”</p><p>Castiel frowns at Dean’s seamless change of subject. Every aspect of Castiel’s life is once again on display, but Dean’s troubles are off limits. He sighs with a burrowed sense of resentment.</p><p>“I’m fi—” Castiel’s accustomed to lying but stops himself short when Dean shoots him a menacing glare. </p><p>“Well, uh, I tried to raid the medicine cabinets earlier, but you did a pretty good sweep of them. I couldn’t find an errant aspirin, let alone a benzo.”</p><p>Dean nods solemnly, “Yeah, well, I didn’t wanna take any chances.”</p><p>Castiel tilts his head to the side and quips, “Worried you’ll lose a bet on my sobriety?” </p><p>It’s more biting than he intended.</p><p>Dean rolls his eyes, “No, I’m worried about you, asshole.” </p><p>Castiel chews on the inside of his cheek, any remark he had ready fading from his mind. He blinks away the watery sensation building up in his eyes, swallowing hard at the knot in his throat. </p><p>“I missed you.”</p><p>Castiel says the admission so timid it could have easily been mistaken for the wind whispering outside. But it is enough, and Dean smiles, his real smile this time - the twinkle finally reaching his eyes. There is light to be found here, in this dark space between them, and Dean is the beacon. </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>August 29<sup>th</sup>, 2011</strong>
</p><p>The junkyard is a flurry of people. Some are loading boxes into parked cars. Others clean guns and fill gas cans. The few children they have at the camp are running around, playing tag. Dust kicks up into the air as the children skid to a stop in front of a pile of tires. Castiel stands at the center of it, head spinning with the smell of gasoline and car exhaust. </p><p>Castiel supervises the cars in the driveway, marking them off on his clipboard and sweeping the house one last time. It’s not entirely empty. They’re going to keep it as a back-up shelter, maybe even a future checkpoint or safehouse, so they will return eventually. Still, it hurts to leave this place behind. Besides Heaven, it’s the first long-term residence Castiel has ever lived in. </p><p>It is a home.</p><p>In the year since the Croatoan virus hit the United States, the camp at Bobby’s amassed nearly thirty full-time residents, and it’s finally time to make the big move to a more permanent, larger establishment. They’ve been preparing for months. Dean sent two squads out to survey the land and scope out Croat nests along the way to the new camp. A group went over to Gull Point every weekend to build cabins and renovate the buildings already on the land. Castiel even went one week with four others to fence in the area. </p><p>Now, it’s time, and Castiel isn’t sure if he should be terrified or excited for what’s to come. Behind him, a familiar voice interrupts his reverie, and he turns on his heels to face the house.</p><p>“Alright, grab the last of the water jugs and we can roll out,” Dean shouts from the porch.</p><p>Dean is sweating under the heat of a late midwestern summer, grey t-shirt sticking to his back and outlining the curves of each muscle. Castiel pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. Dean looks like a man on a mission. </p><p>A man so determined to get things right, that everyone else must believe he will succeed. </p><p>The crowd of people migrate towards their respective vehicles, carrying backpacks and duffels over their shoulders. Cas spots Jo as she hurries past Dean, kissing him tenderly before picking up her shotgun from its spot at Dean’s feet. </p><p>Only a few feet away, Castiel can hear her whisper a quick ‘I love you’ and then she is gone. He distracts himself with a loose thread that’s attempting to escape from his shirt hem, but Jo’s words feel like a slap in the face. It stings.</p><p>Dean stares after her, watching her until she disappears into the cab of her truck. </p><p>Castiel’s heart beats an irregular rhythm inside his chest, tightening quickly as he realizes that Dean does love Jo. It’s not some passing thing like Castiel had hoped – they love each other. </p><p>Castiel briskly enters the house and climbs the stairs two at a time until he reaches the second floor. Stopping with his hand on the handle, Castiel rests his head on the door to his room and releases the breath he was holding. Turning the knob, he pushes forward and observes the walls of their home one last time.</p><p>He grabs his gun and his bag off the bed, and doesn’t look back, making a beeline for the Impala. Dean is patiently waiting for him, fiddling with a tape deck. </p><p>“You good?” Dean has an easy smile, relaxed in the familiar seat of his car. </p><p>Castiel nods, “It’s odd to leave this place.”</p><p>“Yeah, it is,” Dean agrees, frowning slightly as he glances out the window to look over the house. The easy smile returns and he tilts his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. </p><p>“I’m sure we’ll be back again.”</p><p>He pops a tape into the stereo and adjusts the volume. Static clears into a guitar solo that Castiel recognizes faintly. It reminds him of lazy car rides and the taste of Dean’s skin. </p><p>He could pick the sound of Zeppelin out of the air, hold it in his hands, and it would feel like Dean. </p><p>*****</p><p>Dean swerves onto the side of the road, pulling the Impala close behind Jo’s beat-up truck as the caravan trails down the road. </p><p>Unsurprisingly, disaster strikes quickly.  One of the cars, a group of outsiders that they took in just a few weeks ago, goes rogue, turning down the wrong road. They are immediately ensnared in a Croat’s den.</p><p>Once Dean realizes they’re gone, it’s too late. </p><p>Croats start peeling out of alleyways and buildings, rushing towards the caravan with ferocity. They sense the fresh blood in the air.</p><p>Dean yells into the walkie with his free hand, “Pull back! Everyone haul ass back to the freeway now!” He spins the Impala around, weaving through the abandoned cars and trash in the road, and leads the rest of the group back to safety.</p><p>From the freeway, they can see the smoke coming from the wrecked vehicle just a few blocks away. A blip of black ash in the baked blue summer sky. </p><p>Cas quickly catalogues what he’s learned about Croats in the last year, preparing himself for a fight. They’re generally mindless things, but some are more intelligent. Those are the ones that cause the most trouble – the ones that have adapted an ability to process thought. </p><p>Castiel has seen them - the Croats that can observe and plan, start fires and shoot guns. So similar they could almost pass for humans. They’re dangerous and absolutely terrifying. </p><p>“Cas, I need you to look at the map and figure out how to get to the other route from here,” Dean says, more a command than request. </p><p>The soldier in Castiel quickly complies, sensing the urgency of the situation. He fumbles with the map at first but manages to figure out their location.</p><p>Gull Point is a massive nature reserve on a peninsula. Castiel knows there’s only two ways to the camp, and their most viable option is officially ruled out. The second choice isn’t much better. It’s further North, and it’s through a small town that reportedly was hit hard by the virus, according to the scouts that Dean sent out to survey the area last week.</p><p>Dean continues to lead the trail of cars behind him, racing down the two-lane highway towards the other main road that can take them to Gull Point. </p><p>“We should be fine going through the North end,” Castiel assures him, reading the notes made at the bottom of the map. “There’s one possible nest along the way, but we can likely get around it.”</p><p>Castiel glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye, and he can see the wheels turning inside Dean’s head. </p><p>“Jo’s gonna want to go back to see if there are any survivors.”</p><p>Cas shakes his head.  “There won’t be any.”</p><p>“You read my fucking mind,” Dean snaps back with a growl.  His anger is abrupt and misdirected, and Castiel doesn’t take it personally - but it still makes him uneasy.  Dean only snaps like this when he feels hopeless. </p><p>Still, Dean’s the one who always knows what to do, and it must be exhausting. Castiel can see it now in the set of his shoulders, the glint in his green eyes, the hard outline of his jaw clicking into place.</p><p>Dean slows the car as some buildings come into view. They pull up to an abandoned strip mall along the highway. The rest of the cars file into the parking lot. </p><p>Jo hops out of her truck and rushes over to the Impala. Dean rolls down his window as she approaches. She dips her head and rests her elbows on the car, looking at Dean with annoyance., </p><p>“I fucking told you to split that group up, because they were planning on stealing that car and a ton of supplies, but what did you do?” </p><p>Shoulders tightening, Dean shoots back, “Look – I didn’t think they’d be a doing a suicide run, alright?”</p><p>“You didn’t fucking listen to me.”  Jo’s brows draw together in irritation.</p><p>“I gave them the benefit of the doubt,” Dean growls back, matching her fury, and Castiel can see how their relationship works. Jo has passion – something that drives her – and Dean likes that. Dean likes a challenge, but only if it doesn’t hurt too much. </p><p>Castiel learned that the hard way.</p><p>“Think twice about that next time, sweetheart,” Jo rolls her eyes. </p><p>She straightens her body, standing her ground, and announces, “I’m going back to get any survivors.”</p><p>Dean’s voice hardens as he shakes his head tightly. “No, you’re not. That’s a fucking suicide run, Jo. Don’t be stupid.”</p><p>“I’m not stupid,” She slams her hand down on top of the car and Dean winces at the sound of the impact. </p><p>“I’m doing the right thing. Mom, me and a few others will go back and just do a quick scope of the area where the smoke is coming from. We won’t get the close”</p><p>Castiel interrupts, “Jo, it’s swarmed with Croats. If you go down there, you won’t make it out.”</p><p>Jo ignores him entirely, maintaining her gaze on Dean, who shrugs in agreement with Castiel’s input. </p><p>To Castiel’s surprise, Dean says, “He’s got a point.”</p><p>“We’ll take five people total and we’ll meet you at the checkpoint closest to the camp,” Jo tucks a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear and continues, “We’ll walkie you if we get into any trouble.”</p><p>Dean’s eyes are full of concern, and Cas can tell he’s against the idea.  After a beat, Dean begrudgingly agrees. “Fine, but be careful and pull back if things get too out of hand.”</p><p>The frown on Jo’s face dissolves at Dean’s softer tone and she hums, “Promise. Be back soon.”</p><p>She kisses Dean again, and Cas feels it - the sharp longing for the numbing effects of a pill - but he shoves the urge down. Now is not the time to be daydreaming about getting high. </p><p>*****</p><p>They don’t see or hear from Jo or Ellen again. </p><p>The three others that went with them on the last-minute rescue mission never turn up either. </p><p>When they reach Gull Point, Dean waits at the main entrance to the base, idling inside the Impala with his eyes glued to the road, the walkie talkie in his hand. Once dinner rolls around, Castiel goes to check on him after he’s helped most of the group get settled. </p><p>He discovers Dean frantically speaking into the walkie, tears rolling down his face.</p><p>“Jo, c’mon,” He whimpers despondently inside the car, “Please come back. Just answer me. Don’t be fucking dead. Just don’t be dead, Jo.”</p><p>Stalling outside the Impala, Castiel checks his watch out of habit, trying to give Dean some time before interrupting his grieving. </p><p>Finally, he takes the leap. The window is rolled down, so he approaches the driver’s side and gently asks, “Do you want dinner? I’ll bring you something.”</p><p>“No, I’m –” Dean croaks, voice scratchy from shouting throughout the day. He doesn’t look at Castiel, keeping his eyes on the entrance to camp. “I’m not hungry.”</p><p>After a moment, Castiel realizes that this is as far as the conversation will go. </p><p>He nods, “I’ll come check on you later.” He tries to keep the tremor out of his voice, knowing Dean needs the space.</p><p>He does his rounds, checking the grounds and darting by Bobby’s cabin to talk about plans for tomorrow. By midnight, most of the camp is asleep, every heart heavy. </p><p>Ten people died in total. Just like Dean said. It’s another prophecy fulfilled. It makes Castiel’s stomach turn sour.</p><p>“You seen Dean?” Bobby’s voice is even gruffer than usual. He’s slouched in his wheelchair, open beer in hand, tired from the day’s journey. </p><p>Castiel checks his watch and frowns, “Uh, last I saw him was two hours ago, after dinner.”</p><p>Bobby stares at Castiel from across the table, “Did he eat?” He looks so hopeful, waiting patiently for an answer.</p><p>Sighing, Castiel frowns, “No, I asked him if he wanted me to bring him something, but he refused.”</p><p>Bobby grumbles to himself, tapping his index finger against the grain of the wooden table with an indecisive rhythm. He asks, “You gonna go take care of him?”</p><p>With a small, tight smile, Castiel rises from his seat, “I’ll go check on him now. Good night, Bobby.”</p><p>Bobby gives him a silent nod in reply, and Castiel takes that as his final cue to leave. He heads towards the main entrance where the Impala is still perched. Through the dark, Castiel can barely make out the shape of Dean in the car, but he is there. Immobile.</p><p>He approaches the car from the driver’s side, tapping the glass of Dean’s window before he reaches for the handle and carefully tugs it open. </p><p>Dean sits limply, still and glassy-eyed. His cheeks are red, hands loose in his lap. The walkie talkie has been discarded, uselessly laying on the seat beside Dean. </p><p>Castiel can’t stop himself from reaching out to wipe away a stray tear still lingering on Dean’s cheek. And Dean accepts the touch, face crumbling again into a silent sob. Castiel crouches until he is just below eye level, huddled between Dean and the open door. </p><p>“You should get some rest,” Castiel says gently, thumb making small circles across Dean’s cheekbone. “Dean, there was nothing you could’ve done. She was going to do it whether you said so or not.”</p><p>Dean sucks in a deep breath, lifting his eyes from the steering wheel to press his palms to his eyes. He shoves Castiel’s hand away in the process. </p><p>Wiping at the tears aggressively, Dean lets out a low growl and abruptly punches the steering wheel with enough force to knock out a grown man.</p><p>“I didn’t tell her I love her today.” </p><p>Dean’s voice comes urgent and angry, chest puffing out with each rising breath. His hands tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. </p><p>His voice breaks, “I loved her.”</p><p>The words hit Castiel like a solid brick wall, formidable and undeniable. </p><p>He spent so many hours wishing that Dean and Jo’s relationship was nothing more than something casual. He had convinced himself that this was true. But now he cannot ignore it any longer. </p><p>They were in love. </p><p>Dean loved somebody else after Castiel. </p><p>He is capable of moving on completely while Castiel is certain that he will only ever be able to love Dean. There is nobody else for him. </p><p>Cas shoves the realization aside.</p><p>He can process his own worries later; right now, he needs to be here for Dean.</p><p>Castiel isn’t sure what to say, so he places his hand on Dean's and gives it a squeeze. The touch sparks something in Dean and he finally turns to face Castiel. His eyes are bloodshot and his face is streaked and splotchy. There’s a splatter of blood trailing across his neck and across his shirt. </p><p>“Don’t worry,” Castiel reassures him, caressing the cut along Dean’s brow gingerly. “She knew.”</p><p>Dean moves then, body turning to exit the car in stumbling, rigid steps. Castiel holds him steady by the elbow, leading him to his cabin just to the right of the main hall. </p><p>They fall into an easy step together, moving closer and closer to the cabin. Once inside, Castiel deposits Dean on the bed and fumbles with the lamp on the bedside table. </p><p>With the room illuminated, he straightens himself and backs up towards the door, preparing to make a hasty exit. </p><p>Dean catches his wrist. </p><p>Castiel knows Dean well enough to understand what he means by the touch.</p><p>And this is the moment that Castiel has dreamed about for months, but it’s not supposed to happen like this. He doesn’t want to be an easy, mindless comfort to Dean in his time of need, but Castiel is torn. He loves Dean so much that he would do anything to ease even the smallest amount of Dean’s pain.</p><p>Accepting the touch, Castiel gives in and allows Dean to pull him closer, until he’s standing between Dean’s spread legs. </p><p>Their proximity sends Castiel’s heart into a flurry, beating frantically inside his chest. </p><p>Releasing his grip on Castiel’s wrist, Dean’s hand tentatively flutters to rest on Castiel’s hip. </p><p>“Baby, I need you,” Dean whispers, voice low with hurt and uncertainty. “Wanna feel you. Want you to touch me, please.”</p><p>Castiel swallows, his body constricting with nerves. His hands tremble at his sides, unsure of where to go or what to do. He can’t tell if he wants to reach out or run for the door, booking it to his own cabin. </p><p>To be alone. </p><p>To be here.</p><p>“Dean, that’s not a –”</p><p>“I don’t care if it’s not a good idea.” Dean replies automatically, voice sharp as glass, eyes locked on Castiel’s with a dark intensity. </p><p>He tugs Castiel closer until he falls into Dean’s lap, legs straddling either side of him. Castiel’s body relaxes into the frame of Dean too easily, like he was always meant to fit into the curve of Dean’s body.</p><p>“Stay.” Catching him, Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s and pleads, “Cas, stay with me. Just for tonight.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I am SO sorry. This took me forever. Real-life stuff was making it difficult for me to find the time to write, but I'll be on summer break soon! I want to get into a consistent writing schedule so I don't leave y'all hanging like this if work makes it impossible for me to write. I appreciate all the lovely comments/kudos I've gotten on this story while I've been away. You all warm my heart &lt;3</p><p>I am treating you to smut. Enjoy! Also, warnings for mentions/depictions of drug use. </p><p>Irena beta'd for part of this chapter and I want to thank her for it, so go check out Irena's <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayreisha/pseuds/you-cant-spell-subtext-without">AO3</a> and <a href="https://you-cant-spell-subtext-without.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>!</p>
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  <strong>August 29th, 2011</strong>
</p><p>Dean’s hands hold tight to Castiel’s hips, anchoring him to Dean’s lap. There is a longing rooted in Dean’s hold on him. Trembling with anxiety, Castiel peers into the green of Dean’s eyes, searching for a signal of truth.</p><p>Either this is some selfish ploy to distract himself from Jo’s death or Dean means it. Wanting him here. Needing Castiel to stay. The words Dean uttered less than an hour ago echo in Castiel’s head, vibrating through his skull like the beginnings of a migraine. Pain waiting to reveal itself at any moment.</p><p>
  <em>I loved her.</em>
</p><p>A crashing wave of doubt courses through Castiel’s heart. But he doesn’t leave. His dick twitches in his jeans when Dean’s hands run up and down Castiel’s sides, tangling over him like ivy ascending a crumbling fortress. Pressing wet, open-mouth kisses to Castiel’s jawline, Dean’s mouth is hungry and urgent. Castiel wants to be devoured.                                             </p><p>Inhaling deeply, Castiel tries to reign himself in, to get some control over the situation before he gives in entirely. His body feels supercharged under Dean’s hands and mouth, caving into Dean’s magnetic force. This is a familiar - the sensation of wanting to be pulled into the current of a heady undertow. Whether it’s pills or Dean, the rush is the same. </p><p>It’s inevitable. </p><p>“Dean, what about - ”</p><p>“I don’t wanna think about it,” Lowering his eyes, he kisses Castiel’s neck tenderly, voice vibrating into his skin. “Don’t make me think about it right now.” </p><p>Calloused fingers trace the outline of Castiel’s ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples and bringing them to a point. Castiel gasps and his back arches into Deam’s touch.<br/>Dean drops his head, murmuring into the hollow curve of Castiel’s shoulder, “Tell me you want me as much as I want you.” </p><p>“You don’t want me, Dean,” Castiel insists, but his voice catches as he tries to maintain his composure. </p><p>His beating heart ricochets as he musters the strength to pull away. To demonstrate that he is capable of turning down even the most tempting of offers. </p><p>Dean snags Castiel’s hand from where it hangs loosely by his side. He looks up at Castiel, a question burning in his eyes. A blush creeps up Castiel’s neck as he slowly nods, keeping his gaze as neutral as possible. It’s almost imperceptible, but it’s a yes. Dean places it over the erect outline of his dick. It pulses under Castiel’s palm. His head swims with an overwhelming surge of desire, fingers tracing the firm curve of Dean’s erection through his jeans.</p><p>He takes in a sharp breath. Closes his eyes. Accepts that this is a battle he will lose.</p><p>Sucking on the lobe of Castiel’s ear, Dean murmurs, “That feel like I don’t want you?”</p><p>Castiel swallows thickly, suddenly parched, “Dean…”</p><p>He kisses Castiel below his ear, breath ghosting down Castiel’s neck. Castiel shivers. Overwhelmed with the intoxication of Dean’s nearness, Castiel’s resolve crumbles. The pressure of Dean’s lips sends a chill up his spine and he involuntarily rocks his hips forward, rutting against Dean, who lets out a low moan. Dragging his hand away from Dean’s lap, Castiel fists at the front of Dean’s shirt and tries to stabilize himself.</p><p>He’s spinning out. The entire room circles him, closing in, trapping him in a situation that he could never and will never say no to because this is Dean. </p><p>His chest tightens with a mixture of anxiety and arousal. He doesn’t want Dean just for one night. He wants Dean to be his. Endlessly. No matter what. </p><p>Those feelings are only mutual when Castiel is sober. </p><p>“You’re thinkin’ too much.” Dean hums, voice resonating across Castiel’s skin like a favorite song. The vibrations root deep in his bones. Dean curls his arms around Castiel, reassuring him with a smile. “Get outta your head, baby. I’m right here.”</p><p>There’s no guarantee that Dean’s hand sliding down to cup Castiel’s ass is any indication of a future together. Castiel could relapse, and Dean would undoubtedly toss him out. It’s a cycle that Castiel is not prepared to experience again.</p><p>But his body curves towards Dean like he is starved of touch. Of Dean. </p><p>Body shaking with anticipation, Castiel cannot hold back a moan when Dean lifts his hips. His fingers coast along the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, tugging him slightly closer until they are completely flush against each other.</p><p>Jo is dead, and Dean loved her. </p><p>The thought detonates inside Castiel’s head like a bomb, and his body tenses under Dean’s liquid caress. Then Dean runs his hands up Castiel’s thighs, fingers ghosting over the zipper of his jeans. He bites at the edge of Castiel’s collarbone and it sends shockwaves through the former angel; it tricks him into feeling holy. Castiel melts, sinking his hips to find friction. </p><p>This isn’t loving. Castiel is simply an attempt to fill that dark, endless space inside Dean that is all-consuming. Castiel can see it in Dean’s eyes. Hollow and searching for something to make him whole. In a twisted way, Castiel is willing to be that distraction if it means that he can be with Dean again. </p><p>Even if it is just for one night.</p><p>Pulling away just enough to meet Castiel’s eyes, Dean asks, “Do you want me, Cas?”</p><p>Frozen under Dean’s gaze, Castiel blurts out, “I’ll always want you.”</p><p>“Then stay,” Dean begs, voice cracking with desperation. </p><p>His fingers curl around Castiel’s hips possessively. Lifting his head from Castiel’s neck, Dean moves in close until their noses brush. His eyelashes catch the light radiating from the bedside lamp. Each lash flickers gold, complementing the green of his eyes. </p><p>Sliding his hands under Castiel’s shirt and pressing a hungry kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth, Dean’s touch is insistent. The pull of his lips is suffocating, drawing all strength from Castiel’s body.</p><p>Voice barely a whisper, hot breath flooding the incremental space between them, Dean says, “Kiss me, Cas, please.”</p><p>Castiel forgets to think or breathe. It takes Castiel a second to compute the request. His heart goes into overdrive, the beat of it thrumming through his ears.</p><p>Feigning steady hands, Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pitches forward, capturing Dean’s lips in a crushing kiss. It’s rough and unhinged, kickstarting a fire inside Castiel that cannot be put out. He pulls on Dean’s lower lip with his teeth, clutching at him like Dean will float away and disappear forever if he lets go. </p><p>Dean is an unstoppable force, dragging Castiel down with him as he falls back onto the bed. Grabbing Dean's wrists and pinning them above his head, Castiel licks into Dean’s mouth, dragging a groan from the back of his throat. Hips rushing forward to connect, Castiel’s skin catches fire under Dean’s fevered touch. Castiel accelerates the flame, aiming to be devastated in the process.</p><p>Dean’s hips flex upwards, searching for contact. Castiel gives Dean what he wants. He grinds slow and filthy into Dean until they’re both panting for air between open-mouthed, wet kisses. </p><p>“Off,” Castiel demands, tugging at Dean’s shirt frantically. “Wanna feel you.”</p><p>Castiel yanks his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor. He flicks open Dean’s belt buckle, fingers racing to undo the button of his jeans as Dean pulls off his grey t-shirt. After a little more fumbling, they manage to extricate the remaining clothes from their bodies. Dean shoves his boxers down his legs with his free hand as he uses the other to guide Castiel down onto the bed, facing him.</p><p>Dean’s dick bobs up between them once it’s freed, hard and leaking at the tip. Castiel quickly wraps his hand around it, thumbing the head to gather the moisture there and slick it down the length of him. </p><p>Dean releases a choked, pleading sound as his pupils blow wide with lust. Castiel peppers Dean’s neck and chest with kisses, sucking on the smooth edge of his collarbone as he pumps his fist with an unwavering rhythm. </p><p>“Think ‘bout this all the damn time,” Dean rambles between tiny gasps and moans. “Can’t get you outta my head. Just can’t shake you.”</p><p>Castiel knows that feeling. What it’s like to crave, to want something he can’t or shouldn’t have, and he understands how debilitating it can be. He feels it every day, every hour, every second. This is just as much of a fix for Castiel as it is for Dean; the taste of Dean is like hit off a pipe. Nearly equivalent. But not quite.</p><p>Fingers trailing over Castiel’s exposed chest, Dean slips one hand into the waistband of Castiel’s boxers and strokes him, trailing his tongue along the line of Castiel’s bottom lip. The pressure of Dean’s hand is everything that Castiel remembers; it’s absolute perfection. He bucks his hips into Dean’s fists and releases a strangled gasp against Dean’s lips. Castiel can feel Dean’s smile grow wide, the corners of his lips turning up into a playful grin. He nips at Castiel’s bottom lip and thumbs the head of Castiel’s dick. </p><p>Castiel relishes in the sensation of being entirely consumed by Dean - the taste, the smell, the feel of him. Dean shudders when Castiel presses closer, shoving Dean’s hand away and slotting their cocks together. </p><p>Castiel wraps a loose fist around both of them, building up a rhythm until he can feel it. Dean’s body quakes, about to explode, shaking at full throttle. Castiel’s name is a cursed word spilling from his lips.</p><p>“Cas, Cas, baby, fuck, Cas, I’m gonna -”</p><p>Dean moans into Castiel’s mouth as he comes, and the former angel breathes it in, kissing him like a fool hopelessly in love, his heart soaring along with Dean’s orgasm.</p><p>In the pale orange light, Castiel realizes that this is the closest thing either of them has to be at peace. It’s a last-ditch effort to cling to whatever sense of familiarity they have left. It’s cheap and stupid, but it feels like finding a haven.</p><p>That’s enough to push Castiel over the edge, a spark of heat flaring through him as he shoots behind Dean into bliss. Sated and dazed, they lie facing one another, bodies sticky, the mess of them pooling in the sheets. </p><p>When Castiel opens his eyes, Dean just stares at him, eyes swelling with fresh tears that he stubbornly wipes away with the back of his clean hand. His body turns rigid as stone. Dean pushes away from him urgently, turning his back to Castiel as he sits on the edge of the bed. </p><p>“I’m sorry about Jo.” Gazing blankly at the freckles on Dean’s back, Castiel ignores the ache that rages through him and quietly clears his throat, “I can go if you would like.”</p><p>Castiel wants to stay - to wake up and see the morning light with Dean by his side - but that’s not what this was about. They’d both be fools to think that this encounter was anything more than a quick release to numb the pain. Castiel is trying to be realistic; otherwise, he might lose himself again. Hope isn’t something a person like Castiel should have. </p><p>“No. Please stay,” Dean answers weakly, looking over his bare shoulder at Castiel, broken and tired. He grabs his t-shirt from the floor and uses it to clean them both up, carefully dragging it across the skin of Castiel’s stomach. It reminds Castiel of when they were lovers. When sleeping together was a guarantee. </p><p>Dean crawls back into his place on the bed, turning off the lamp as he lies down. Curling his naked body around Castiel’s frame, Dean nuzzles into the crook of Castiel’s neck. His breath begins to even out after a few minutes, and Castiel counts each little puff of air, wishing he could spend the rest of his life watching over Dean.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>August 30th, 2011</strong>
</p><p>Castiel wakes to an empty cabin, but there are traces of Dean still, ensuring Castiel that the events of last night did occur. Discarded clothes are on the floor. A half-empty glass of water sits idly on the dresser. The shape of Dean’s head is still on the pillow. </p><p>Castiel didn’t imagine or dream it. Last night wasn’t some grand illusion. </p><p>It was real.</p><p>But Dean is gone, the warmth from his side of the bed long dissipated by now. His boots and his gun are missing. Nowhere in sight.</p><p>Rubbing his temples, Castiel longs for the sharp end of a needle or the head rush of a white line. Something to ease this incessant hurt that racks through him from the moment he wakes up until the moment he falls asleep. </p><p>He’s not sure what kind of cruel joke God is playing, but he’s officially decided that he was never cut out for this. Emotions, mortality, loving. Is he capable of keeping this charade going? Of pretending that he is okay? That he doesn’t dream of little plastic baggies and the spark of a lighter? </p><p>Can he survive this?</p><p>Rising from the bed, Castiel wonders if Dean cursed himself when he woke this morning to find Castiel still in his bed. Looking at the now-empty bed, the tangled sheets, and the pile of clothes on the floor, Castiel is hit with a wave of guilt.</p><p>He tidies up the bed, stripping the ruined sheets and tossing them in the empty hamper before reaching for his clothes. After he gets dressed, he takes off towards his cabin just a few yards away. In the safety of his small but respectable quarters, Castiel sits on the floor of his kitchen and lights a cigarette. </p><p>When the tightness in his chest overcomes him, Castiel doesn’t resist the urge to surrender. He cries until the embers reach his fingertips, and then he lights another.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>August 31st, 2011</strong>
</p><p>Dawn breaks through the trees, painting the sky in blue and pink, as Castiel exits his cabin. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns, body moving painfully slow as he steps out into the cool morning air.</p><p>On his way to the cafeteria, he must pass Dean’s cabin on the main road. A spark of anxiety shoots through him as he nears it, and his heart nearly stops when the door swings open. </p><p>But it’s not Dean.</p><p>It’s a woman, Vivianne, who joined the camp just before they moved to Gull Point. She’s drowning in an oversized Henley and carrying what appears to be her clothes in her hands. She turns and smiles at a familiar figure in the doorway.</p><p>Dean stands under the arch, haired ruffled from sleep, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. Castiel locks eyes with Dean as the woman leans forward to kiss Dean’s cheek. His face falls from a relaxed grin to a blank stare, and he opens his mouth as if to say something to Castiel. But the words don’t come. </p><p>Castiel’s anxiety instantly turns to an ache at the center of his chest. He averts his eyes and walks onward, zipping past the cafeteria, until he reaches the fenced edge of the property. His breath comes out ragged like he’s been running for his life. Like he’s running out of time. His chest tightens and he covers his face with his hands, willing himself to get a fucking grip. </p><p>He has no claim on Dean.</p><p>Dean used him to forget about Jo the same way he used that girl. The other night meant nothing. The girl currently walking back to her cabin means nothing. They’re simply pawns in the game of Dean’s grief. </p><p>The possibility of what could have been leaves Castiel gasping for breath, hanging from an invisible rope. He’s scrambling to loosen the knot and break free of this hold that Dean has on him. But Dean’s the one who tied the noose, and Castiel didn’t think twice about wrapping it around his neck. </p><p>He hates himself for being so weak.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>September 1st, 2011</strong>
</p><p>The heavy, woodsy smell of it drags Castiel out of his bed in the middle of the night. He quickly slips out into the night air, dressed in his pajamas, and quietly walks through camp until he finds the source.</p><p>Chuck leans against the railing on his front porch, a joint dangling between his thumb and index finger. He looks up at Castiel as he approaches, but he doesn’t budge from his spot. He just releases a low chuckle and takes another drag.</p><p>“I’m not supposed to give you any of this,” Chuck says casually, lifting his hand and flashing the joint at him. His eyes are bloodshot and unfocused, hazily dragging over Castiel’s tired body.</p><p>Stepping up onto the porch, Castiel leans against the railing beside Chuck, “Says who?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Chuck shakes his head, “You know who.”</p><p>With a bitter laugh, Castiel says, “He’s not my fucking keeper.”</p><p>“Y’know what? Knock yourself out, Cas,” Chuck shrugs, passing the joint to him. “After everything, one hit isn’t gonna kill you.”</p><p>Castiel brings the joint to his lips and inhales slowly, savoring the tangy and dense taste as it overwhelms his tastebuds. His head rushes instantly, sending him into a soothing euphoria. All of the anxiety that constantly rages through him dulls to a low thrum. He exhales deeply and tips his head back to stare up at the night sky.</p><p>Smiling at the twinkling stars, Castiel says, “Thanks, Chuck. You’ve got no idea how much I needed that.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>September 2nd, 2011 </strong>
</p><p>Lounging across his bed, Castiel fiddles with the corners of the book he’s been holding for the last half hour. The words swim on the page, taunting him with their intricacies and attention to detail while he floats somewhere in between incomprehension and delusion. He realizes that he is spiraling, but he doesn’t know how to stop it besides coming clean about it. </p><p>He can’t think straight. He’s been thinking about begging Chuck to give him some weed or stealing a bottle of Bobby’s liquor for the last two hours. Chuck would probably say no, but stealing from Bobby would be easy. He’s out on a food run with Dean and few others. They’re supposed to get back later tonight, so a quick little break-in wouldn’t be very noticeable. Plus, it’s already dark outside. </p><p>His fingers twitch, threatening to drop the book. He’s tried everything to distract himself from thinking of Dean. He spent two hours organizing the infirmary, carefully filing away bandages and antibiotics. But it wasn’t much of a distraction. He noticed that the painkillers were already locked away in the cabinet by the door. Castiel didn’t bother looking for the key to open it, because Dean is smart enough to hide it where Castiel can’t find it. Maybe he is Castiel’s keeper.</p><p>When he couldn’t busy himself with meaningless work, he went for a long walk around the perimeter. The autumn chill nipped at him for an hour until he finally relented and returned to his cabin. Fingers red and icy, Castiel stared at his hands and recalled a time when the weather was the least of his concerns. The thought made him want a drink, something amber and warm. </p><p>Instead, he decided to sit on the floor and smoke until his lungs hurt.</p><p>That’s how he ended up here. The single-room cabin is shrouded in a thin haze of smoke now. His seventh cigarette smolders away in his ashtray. It didn’t scratch the itch as he had hoped. </p><p>A knock at the door draws Castiel out of his reverie. Through the curtains, Castiel can make out the curve of Dean’s shoulders and the jutting edge of his jawline. </p><p>Castiel fumbles with the book, dropping it on the floor as he rises from the bed. </p><p>“Shit,” He mutters distractedly. Picking it up, he tosses it on the bedside table and pauses for a moment to collect himself.</p><p>He knew this would happen sooner or later. They need to hash it out, and Castiel can’t keep avoiding Dean. Hiding in his cabin and sneaking out of back doors is getting kind of old. </p><p>His legs usher him towards the door and he feels like he’s on autopilot, moving beyond his own control. Before he realizes it, his hand is on the door handle. On the other side of the threshold, Dean’s hand is raised in a fist, ready to greet the wood of the door for a second time. Dean stops short of knocking when he realizes they’re face to face. </p><p>Shoving his hands in his pockets, Dean glances past Castiel’s shoulder, “Can I come in?”</p><p>“I don’t see why not,” Castiel answers tentatively, cracking the door to allow Dean inside. </p><p>He closes the door mechanically, hating the way it latches closed, preventing immediate flight.  </p><p>Taking a few quick strides to distance himself from Dean, Castiel lands in the center of the cabin as Dean watches him from the entryway. His nose wrinkles in a grimace and he scopes out the room for the first time.</p><p>Dean chuckles softly, smiles uneasy, and rocks back on his heels, “Smells like a casino in here.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Castiel mutters, rushing to the nearest window and sliding it open. A sick feeling rises in him when he realizes that now Dean knows he’s a chain smoker. “I know that I shouldn’t smoke in here.”</p><p>A cool evening breeze rushes through the window and disturbs the thin layers of smoke veiled throughout the room. </p><p>He sits on the edge of the windowsill. Moving cautiously, Dean walks until he is within reach of Castiel.</p><p>He clears his throat, uncertainty clouding his voice, “Cas, I’m sorry about the other night.”</p><p>Castiel huffs in predetermined defeat, “Listen, you don’t have to coddle me, Dean. I know where we stand.”</p><p>Eyes focused intensely on Castiel, Dean’s voice drops to a low rumble, “And where is that, exactly?” </p><p>“No place of importance,” Castiel states concisely, hoping to keep this conversation short.</p><p>He was counting on it being short, so he can get drunk the second Dean is out the door.</p><p>It will be easier this way. Formality is a virtue. Castiel can’t risk letting this whole situation get out of hand, because vulnerability is a slippery slope for him. He doesn’t know how to deal with people. He’s awkward and unsure. He’s human, but horrible at being one. An arms-distance policy is needed at this point.</p><p>He lifts his eyes to find Dean’s, “We can forget it ever happened. Go back to the way things used to be, alright?”</p><p>Eyebrows raised in surprise, Dean nods slowly and asks, “That’s what you want?”</p><p>“What I want doesn’t matter,” Castiel murmurs back, feeling exposed under Dean’s gaze. “I just think this is what would be best.”</p><p>“Fuck what’s best, Cas,” Dean answers urgently, closing in on Castiel. He reaches out and cups Castiel’s face with one hand. He tilts Castiel's head up until their faces are only inches apart. “We ain't gonna survive this shitshow. I’ll be damned if I don’t spend what I got left being with you.”</p><p>Lowering his head, Dean’s breath ghost across Castiel’s lips, “What do we got to lose?”</p>
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